The Widow Morris Stories
by derrx004
Summary: Johnny and the Widow meet, fall in love, and experience trials and tribulations.
1. Chapter 1 Meeting

Meeting

Johnny understood why Murdoch wanted to throw a big fiesta. He really did. He just didn't want to be there. It had been a year since the brothers had come home to Lancer, and Johnny was glad his father felt a celebration was in order. But big parties made him uneasy, and being one of the guests of honor put an uncomfortable burden on him.

That burden was made heavier by the realization that eligible young ladies would be there sizing him up for a wedding suit. Johnny was still coming to terms with the fact that women of a certain type were suddenly... available... to him. Now that he owned a third of the biggest estancia in the valley he'd become quite a catch, even with his disreputable past. And just as he hadn't been able to tell if a woman was attracted to him because of his notoriety when he was a pistolero, he now found he had no idea how to tell if a young lady wanted him only for his money. His legendary ability to read a man's intentions did not apply to women.

His brother Scott was used to dealing with high class women. Johnny was used to dealing with saloon girls and whores. He didn't know how to make small talk with respectable young ladies...or their fathers. All he could do on the night of the party was melt to the edges of the gathering, keep an eye on Scott to see how it was done, and try to disappear before he made a fool of himself.

The festivities were to begin late in the afternoon and continue until midnight. Many of valley's residents would be staying the night; extra rooms in the hacienda were converted to guest rooms and dormitories. Ranch hands volunteered in shifts to take care of the horses and carriages. When Johnny found out about this he offered to be one of the livery men, but Murdoch had just laughed at him as if Johnny was making a joke.

By three o'clock on the day of the party all was ready. Johnny had no idea how it was coordinated, but as the guests arrived so did long tables full of food, along with plates and napkins and utensils. The women of the estancia had a grand time as they served and cooked and cleaned and served some more. There were fruits and vegetables in abundance, barbecued beef and pork and chicken, beans and rice, tortillas, tamales and bread; and desserts sweet enough even for the children-and for Johnny.

The brilliant hues of the women's skirts complemented the colorful paper flowers on the tables; they reminded Johnny of his childhood in Mexico. The setting sun brought a cooling breeze to chase away the heat of the day. The partygoers were bathed in soft pastel light from the paper lanterns. The band played softly at first. Gradually, as the sky darkened and the stars came out, the music got louder and faster, the laughter of the guests more raucous.

When the festivities were well under way Murdoch spotted Johnny walking back from the corral. He waved him over and introduced him proudly to several cattlemen and tradesmen. Johnny didn't even try to remember their names, but he smiled at them and shook their hands. Conversation was strained, and he was glad when he was able to get away-politely, of course. He made his way through the crowd near the dance floor until he saw Scott, surrounded by women; Scott beckoned him over and made a point of introducing him as "my kid brother". Johnny enjoyed mild flirtations with a few of the more forward ladies until some drinking buddies of his walked by and pulled him away. Jokes were told, plans made for a card game later, and a bottle was surreptitiously passed around.

Then from out of nowhere Teresa looped her arm through his and pulled him to the dance floor. He danced with her because it would have caused a ruckus if he had refused. Then another young lady-one of the more forward ones, of course-pretended to think he had asked her to dance, and so there he was dancing again. At last he caught Scott's eye and grimaced to him; to his relief his brother maneuvered over to him, cut in, and Johnny was able to blend back into the crowd.

The constant buzz of voices and music in his ear was wearing him out. He found a dark, quiet corner with a good view of the dance floor and tried to relax as he watched his father and brother dance with all the eligible women of the valley. Scott charmed all the younger ladies but Johnny noticed he danced only once with each one. He _did_ dance with Teresa several times, until young Matthew from the bank arrived and cut in. Scott laughed and kissed Teresa on the cheek before inviting another young lady to dance with him.

Smiling to himself, Johnny looked to see if his old man showed anything other than polite interest in the older ladies he twirled around the floor; but as expected Murdoch was the picture of propriety. Shortly after his father danced with Aggie Conway-with whom the Old Man appeared very comfortable, Johnny noted- he was surprised to see his father with a much younger lady. Johnny didn't recognize her. She wasn't very tall; she had a nice smile and pretty light brown hair; and she was quite a good dancer. Murdoch did most of the talking, but once when they waltzed closer to Johnny he heard the young woman's voice as she responded to something the Old Man said, and it was a nice voice, too.

There was a well stocked dessert table near the front door of the hacienda; Johnny planned to snag a piece of pie once he was done watching the dancing. Knowing he was on his way to the peace and quiet of the house helped him relax. He stopped to talk with a couple of the hands and found himself listening to a very tall tale about mountain lions and pea shooters; when he glanced over to check on his dessert he saw Murdoch's mystery lady going inside, alone. He slapped the teller of tall tales on the back, and with a big grin and a shake of his head he strolled after her, dessert forgotten.

The library was lit by a single lamp on a side table. He saw the young lady holding a candle and peering closely at the books on the middle shelf, gently running her index finger over the spines as she searched the titles. She didn't appear to have heard him enter; he took advantage of the opportunity to look at her a little more closely. She wore a simple dress; her hair was partly tied back by a satin ribbon that matched the decoration on her sleeves. The overall effect was one of modest elegance.

She became aware of his presence, glanced over at him, and smiled a little.

He flashed her one of his best lady-killer smiles and said, "Didn't mean to bother you..."

The young lady did not appear to notice his killer smile. "That's all right. I'm looking for a book to borrow...Mr. Lancer is very generous with his collection."

Johnny hitched himself up to sit part way on the table behind him. "You must like to read, then," he drawled.

"Yes, I do." She looked at him with a level gaze. "Do you enjoy reading?"

He shook his head with a soft snort. "Naw, I'm not much of a reader. My brother, now, he reads all the time."

She nodded and turned her attention back to the books. She didn't ask him about his brother. He watched as she chose a volume and removed it from the shelf. "Why isn't a pretty lady like you out there dancing?" he asked. Her eyes glittered in the candlelight when she looked over at him.

"I was," she answered. "And I saw you take a turn or two. Why aren't _you_ out there dancing?" She smiled as she spoke to show she didn't mean to be rude. He liked her smile, and he didn't feel she was being rude at all. He also liked that she didn't act all fluttery when he called her pretty.

"Well, there are a lot of nice people out there havin' a good time, and I just like watchin' that." He tilted his head and scanned the tops of the bookshelves, avoiding her eyes. "It makes me happy to see folks enjoyin' themselves." He looked down at her briefly, suddenly self-conscious and not sure why.

She nodded. "I know what you mean," she said simply. She had a sweet, low voice. He'd like to hear more of it, but she didn't seem to be much of a talker. Kind of a relief, actually, although it meant it was up to him to keep the conversation going. "Miss, I've been around here for a year or so and I don't remember seeing you before. Are you new in town?"

She bowed her head. "No," she said. "I've lived here for a number of years with my husband. He passed away, and I've only recently finished my year of mourning."

"I'm sorry," Johnny said softly.

So much for keeping the conversation going.

She moved past him without meeting his eyes. "Thank you," she replied. She carried the borrowed book in the crook of her arm. "Good night," she said with a quick glance at his face; then she left. Johnny sat in the dim room, alone.

Cipriano regularly assigned ranch hands to help Lancer widows with chores or heavy labor. When Frank got the job of riding to the Morris place one day, Johnny offered to go instead. When Frank asked why Johnny wanted to go see the crazy animal lady he just laughed and said it was about time he took his turn, which was true as far as it went. But Johnny wondered if the Widow Morris might be the quiet young lady he'd met in the library weeks ago. He'd thought of her several times since then. He couldn't say why, but he wouldn't mind meeting her again.

The lane leading away from the hacienda widened to become the road to Morro Coyo; before it did, a turn off led to the Morris place-still on Lancer land, but set well away from any other house. Like most of the other homes on the estancia, the Widow Morris's house was made of adobe. Unlike the other houses, it included a wooden porch wrapped around the south and east walls. As Johnny and Barranca approached the house a small, ugly dog roused himself from a sunny spot just in front of the steps. He ran towards them, barking.

Barranca eyed the creature and snorted a warning; Johnny stopped the horse and spoke softly to both animals. Barranca calmed down when the dog quit making noise. Johnny dismounted, walked out to the length of his reins, knelt down and held out his hand. The old dog came up to him quickly, wagging his tail and ducking his head. Johnny scratched the dog's ears and the dog melted happily onto his back for a tummy rub. Johnny laughed; the dog opened his mouth in a grin.

"Faker," Johnny said to the dog. "All bark and no bite...that's what they say about your kind." The dog continued smiling and wagging his tail, and he jumped to his feet to follow Johnny as he led his horse into the corral.

Johnny unsaddled Barranca and turned him loose; the horse immediately rolled in the dirt. With a rueful shake of his head Johnny walked up on the porch. There was no answer when he knocked on the front door. Looking around for a sign of the widow, he saw a covered plate on a small table between two rocking chairs. "You mean you didn't help yourself to these?" he commented to the old dog when he raised the cloth to find freshly baked cookies. Under the plate was a note in small, neat feminine handwriting.

Hello! Thank you for coming today. Please help yourself to some cinnamon cookies.

Here are the jobs that seem to be beyond me: The corral gate is swinging crookedly and hanging up a bit; there's a wiggle in the ladder leaning against the west wall of the barn; the water trough in the corral is leaking more than a little (I've left it empty to make it easier for you to fix, so if your horse is thirsty there's a bucket by the pump); and I wonder if you could take down some of the brushy overgrowth in the back of the house.

I'm out this morning and should return before you are done, so please if you have any questions just wait until I get back. You've probably figured out by now that the dog doesn't bite, but the bay horse in the barn does. Thank you! Mrs. Emily Morris

Johnny finished the assigned jobs in good time under the watchful eye of the ugly old dog. He found a few other odds and ends to keep him busy as he waited for the widow to return. The place was neatly kept up, the animals clean and well fed; there were chickens and goats in addition to the dog, and horses in the barn. He visited with the horses for a while-none of them appeared to be anything special to Johnny's eye, and he wondered what a widow needed with three horses.

Johnny was walking up the porch steps when the old dog took off like a shot, running towards a horse and rider trotting in. The horse stopped and the rider dismounted to kneel down with arms flung wide. The old dog moved faster than Johnny would have thought possible and launched right into the waiting arms. Laughing, the young woman stood up with an armful of wiggling dog. She boosted him up onto the saddle, swung easily up behind him, and scooped him again into her arms; then the horse, rider, and dog walked quietly to the house.

Johnny stood in the yard with his hands on his hips as they approached. He couldn't help smiling at the happy trio. When they were closer he touched his hat and said, "Ma'am, I'd say that dog missed you while you were gone."

The Widow Morris was smiling, too. "You'd think I was gone for a month instead of just a morning!"

Johnny reached up and took the old dog from her, turning his face away from the dog's flicking tongue. The young lady dismounted before Johnny could get the dog to the ground. She unlooped the halter rope from the saddle horn to hitch her horse to the rail, and quickly wiped her hands on her trousers.

"Hello-I'm Emily Morris," she said, extending her hand to Johnny.

"Mrs. Morris. I'm Johnny Lancer," he replied, taking her hand gently. He lifted it gallantly to his lips and gazed boldly into her eyes. He was pleased she returned his gaze with a look of amusement.

"I know, Mr. Lancer," she acknowledged with a small smile. "We meet again."

Johnny inclined his head as he released her hand. "Mr. Lancer is my old man," he said. "I'm Johnny."

"And I'm Emily," she responded. "Thank you so much for coming over today."

"When I heard the Widow Morris needed a hand today I pictured someone older," Johnny said. "But I been thinking for a couple of weeks about that nice lady I met in the library. I thought there was a chance it was you, but I didn't expect you to make such good cinnamon cookies."

"Thank you." She smiled up at him."Would you like some more cookies? Some water?"

"No, thanks, I'm good." Johnny was smiling, too, and looking once more into her eyes. They were gray-he hadn't been able to tell that when they first met in the library. Her cheeks were turning a little pink as he gazed at her. Johnny's smile got bigger when he noticed.

Emily cleared her throat and looked down. "Please, have a seat on the porch while I take care of Tramp; then I'll join you."

"Oh, no, ma'am." He shook his head as he grabbed the horse's halter rope. "I'd be happy to tend him for you. You should sit and pet that poor lonely dog of yours."

She looked like she was going to refuse, but changed her mind. "That would be nice. Thank you. And it's Emily-not ma'am."

He touched his hat again with a cheeky grin. "Yes ma'am," he said, eyes dancing, as he led the horse to the barn.

Emily had two glasses of cool water waiting on the porch when Johnny finished putting Tramp away. The dog lay at Emily's feet; his tail thumped when Johnny joined them but he didn't get up.

"That old dog was my best friend this morning," Johnny said, sitting down in the rocker and picking up a cookie. "But I guess he was just stringing me along until he found something better."

Emily nodded. "He's pretty much a one person dog," she agreed. "Other folks may do in a pinch but when I'm home he doesn't usually get too far away from me."

"They say that you have quite a way with animals," Johnny said conversationally.

"They do, do they?" She laughed a little. "What else do they say?"

Johnny ducked his head. "Well, I guess they say you talk to'em."

Emily didn't seem at all upset. "Do they say I'm a witch who put spells on poor animals to force them to do my evil deeds?"

Johnny nearly choked on a bite of cookie as he nodded vigorously. "Yep. That's what I heard."

Emily shook her head and drew in a breath, but before she could respond Johnny continued, "I told'em that my life would be easier if I _could_ talk to the cows instead of havin' to chase'em all over kingdom come, and I hoped you'd be able to teach me how to put a spell on'em to quit goin' through fences."

They chuckled together, then sat in silence for a short while. Emily watched Barranca nosing around the corral as she rubbed her dog's ears. "I _am_ fascinated by animals. I like to try to understand them. If I clear my mind and watch what an animal is doing without applying human standards to it, I can often figure out why it's doing what it's doing."

"What does that mean, about not applying human standards to it?" Johnny asked.

"Well, a dog can only be a dog-he can't imagine being a person. So when I see a dog do something, I ask 'What does the dog get out of this?', not 'What would I get out of that if I was a dog?' Does that make any sense?"

Johnny shook his head with a smile. "Almost. Try it again another way."

Emily returned the smile. "If my dog jumped up and ate all the cookies while I was gone, it would be because those cookies were just too tempting. It wouldn't be because he was mad at me for being gone. He's a dog-eating cookies is its own reward for him. Being mad and eating the cookies because he was mad-that's how people think, not how dogs think."

Johnny considered this for a moment. "You know, that makes sense," he said. "Your dog and I had a conversation this morning about those cookies. I asked him why he didn't help himself, but he never answered me."

"I'm not quite sure." Emily grinned and patted the top of her thighs; the dog happily jumped up into her lap. Johnny could have sworn the dog winked at him. "I think it's because it never occurs to this dog to do anything that I haven't specifically told him to do. He's not the smartest dog I've ever had."

"He might be the ugliest." Johnny regretted saying the words as soon as he spoke them, but Emily smiled in agreement. "He was better looking when he was younger," she said. "But you're right-he's gotten pretty ugly in his old age."

"You had a lot of dogs?" Johnny tried to make up for his thoughtless comment.

"My grandparents always had a couple of farm dogs, and my father always liked having a house dog in town." Emily's face grew contemplative.

Johnny waited, but she was quiet. "You grew up in a city?" he asked. He though it was unusual to have to ask a girl questions-most of them chattered away with no urging.

Emily nodded. "Not much of one-a town called Oberlin. Back east in Ohio. My father grew up on a farm near there, and I spent a lot of time on the farm with my grandparents."

"Brothers and sisters?"

"I had an older brother, and some cousins about my age." She grinned. "We all grew up pretty wild, really."

Johnny raised his eyebrows and couldn't stop a little chuckle. "Wild, huh?"

"Wild," she insisted. "My parents believed that children were naturally in a state of grace and could do no wrong; they also believed in living close to nature and God's handiwork. What that meant is that we were pretty much left to run loose all summer long and on school vacations-Grandma provided the meals and a place to sleep, and other than that, my cousins and I did just about whatever we wanted."

"What kind of wild stuff did you do?"

Emily thought for a long time before answering, and Johnny had the feeling she was choosing her words carefully. "I was almost always with the animals. I learned that if I didn't want to be kicked or bitten or scratched I better learn how to understand them. And as soon as I was big enough to climb on a pony I started to ride. We'd just jump up on horses in the field and kick them-no saddle or bridle, just lots of running and jumping...and falling off. Learning how to fall off was real important."

"That's the truth," Johnny said. He considered what she had said. "But weren't your folks afraid you would get hurt?"

Emily sighed. "I don't really know what they were thinking. My upbringing was far different from that of my friends, but I didn't understand enough to ask my folks about it until it was too late."

"Too late?"

Emily leaned over and gathered the ugly old dog into a hug. "My parents died when I was fifteen-influenza. My grandparents had passed away before that...then my brother died in the War Between the States." Her voice trailed off.

When Johnny spoke his voice was soft. "I'm sorry. That's a lot of loss for a young lady."

Emily nodded. "I was sixteen when I married Mr. Morris. He was an acquaintance of our family, and a good man. He needed someone to tend his house, and I needed...someone to look after me, I guess. He made sure I completed my college degree. We moved West five years ago. And here I am."

She looked up to see Johnny looking at her intently. "I'm glad you're here," he said simply.

She met his gaze. "That's nice of you to say," she said. He noticed her cheeks flushing again, just a little. The dog wriggled out of her grasp and jumped down to the floor.

"So where were you this morning?" Johnny asked, looking away from those gray eyes. "Tramp didn't look all that worked up when I put him away..."

"I was watching a herd of wild horses," Emily answered. "It's not hard work, and Tramp is very good at it."

"Watching horses, huh?" Johnny was surprised. "Why do you watch wild horses?"

"For one thing, I love doing it. For another, I take notes on what I see and send them every month to Dr. Philpot at Miami University. He studies animal behavior and uses my observations in his work. I get a small stipend, and get to spend time outdoors and with horses."

"A stipend, huh? That mean you get paid to watch horses?"

"Yes, that's exactly what it means. Pretty nice deal, isn't it?"

Johnny nodded. Emily Morris kept surprising him. He didn't think he'd ever met anyone quite like her.

"I have to submit my notes under my late husband's name, of course. Academics don't believe a woman has the brain necessary to contribute to the study of natural science." Her voice, still pleasant, nevertheless betrayed a hint of annoyance.

"Well, that ain't right. It seems to me you've got plenty of brain." He had to grin at the sharp nod of her head. He almost thought he heard her say "Damn straight!" But of course she hadn't.

She also didn't seem to need to talk just to fill a silence. Johnny was surprised to discover that he did. "So what kinds of things go into those notes that you send?"

"That part gets a little boring. Things like the numbers of horses in a herd, whether they're male or female, where they spend most of their time in the group, numbers of matings and births...stuff like that." Johnny grinned slyly when she mentioned matings, but said nothing. "Then I watch things for myself. I watch how the horses act and see if I can figure out what's going to happen next. That's what's really fun for me."

Johnny felt a spark of recognition. "You know, I know just what you're talking about. I do it too, except with people. Just sit back real quiet and watch what's going on, so I can figure out what's going to happen." Unconsciously Johnny leaned back in his chair, real quiet.

"Really? So you understand what I'm talking about? I've never really met anyone else who was interested in all this." She sounded skeptical.

"Well, me neither. I mean, I never thought a person could make money making notes on wild horses, but I sure get it when you say you learn by just watching." Johnny leaned forward toward Emily, his hands opening up to her. "You see what's going on, then you wait to see what happens, and after a time you start to be able to predict what people are going to do."

Emily leaned forward a little in response. "And if you do it mindfully enough, you see things other people gloss over. You get to where you can take in a lot all at once, maybe not even knowing you're doing it, and somehow you know what a certain animal is going to do in a certain situation, most of the time."

Johnny scratched his chin. "Mindfully...that's a good word. It explains a lot."

Her dog stood up to look toward the barn, then lay back down again.

"Why do you watch people?" She enjoyed turning his own questions back at him, didn't she? Made him chuckle again.

"In my former line of work it came in pretty handy," he said evenly, wondering how much Mrs. Emily Morris knew about Johnny Lancer.

"Your former line of work being gunfighting?"

She knew.

He sighed, but looked directly at her. "Yeah."

"I can see it being advantageous to be able to predict what other gunmen might do, most of the time," Emily said thoughtfully. There was no recrimination in her tone.

Johnny laughed out loud. "You got that right."

She grinned back at him. They continued talking about watching and learning as the ugly old dog fell asleep on the porch floor. After a while Emily helped him clean Barranca up. By the time his horse was saddled and bridled he realized he really didn't want to go. He couldn't remember ever feeling so at ease with a woman.

As Johnny reluctantly mounted up Emily said, "Thank you so much for helping me out today. Please thank your father for me, too."

"It was truly my pleasure, ma'am," Johnny replied. He hesitated. He looked down at her, noticing for the first time she wore men's clothes. He hadn't noticed before, but it made sense if she was riding and watching horses. Funny he hadn't realized that...funny she hadn't apologized. He knew women who wore men's clothes when necessary, but if anyone saw them they always had to say something about it. Not this one. She was different.

"Emily..." her name felt strange in his mouth-pretty and new. "I'd like to see you again."

She smiled shyly. "I'd like that, too," she said.

Johnny grinned. "Good," he said. He touched his hat and nodded his head, then squeezed Barranca into a trot. She waved as he rode away; he turned in the saddle and waved back. Yes, he did want to see her again. He'd never met someone like her-someone who could somehow put words to what was in his head, who shared his way of looking at the world. He couldn't wait to know her better.


	2. Chapter 2 Talking

Talking

The small fire burning in the grand fireplace was just enough to take the chill out of the air. It was an unseasonably cold evening in late summer. Johnny relaxed in an overstuffed chair, one leg hooked over the arm. He stared into the flames, twirling his empty wine glass by its stem. Scott and Murdoch glanced at him from time to time. It was unusual to see Johnny nearly still, deep in thought, for such an extended period. A small smile played on his lips. It was gentle, and it softened his eyes.

Watching Johnny in repose was far more interesting to Scott than the book he was trying to read. Finally Scott caught Murdoch's eye with a wink and asked, "She pretty, brother?"

Johnny's smile widened a touch, his eyes still intent on the fire. "Yeah, she is. Smart, too."

"A dangerous combination. Anyone I know?"

Johnny chuckled. "I'm not sure I want to tell you. Don't want you beating my time. "

"Would I do that?" Scott tried to look offended.

"You might." Johnny twisted in the chair to look at his brother. "Probably wouldn't have too much luck, though. I think she kinda likes me."

Silence settled comfortably once again. Johnny resumed gazing into the fire; Murdoch returned his attention to his book. Scott was struck by how relaxed and content his brother looked.

"I gotta say, Johnny, I've never seen you so smitten. The young lady must be quite a prize."

"She is something, Scott. I never met another woman like her in my life." Johnny paused. For a moment Scott thought he was done talking, but then Johnny continued. "She speaks straight, you know? She don't flirt or play games like a lot of women do. She knows who she is…"

Another pause. When Johnny continued his voice was softer. "…and she makes me feel like she knows who I am, too. Not the little stuff, you know, like what I like for lunch. She gets the important stuff, the deep down stuff…" his voice trailed off. He seemed a little embarrassed.

Murdoch shifted position on the couch. "She sounds like a remarkable woman, son."

Johnny set his glass down and took a left-over dinner roll from the basket beside him. His fingers pulled it apart as he spoke. "You know her, Murdoch. It's Emily Morris."

Murdoch looked at him in surprise. "Really? I didn't know _you_ knew her."

"She was here a couple of months ago at the fandango you threw for the locals." Johnny popped a bite of the roll into his mouth.

"Yes. It was nice to see her again. I don't recall introducing her to you."

"Yeah, well, I was making myself scarce when I saw her come into your library. I followed her to kinda keep an eye on things."

Scott was amused. "Were you afraid she was going to steal something?" Johnny ignored him.

"So we talked a little, and she was real nice. Different. Not like the kind of girl I usually…"

Scott snorted. Johnny threw what was left of the roll at him with a grin.

"Anyway-a couple of weeks later Frank was headed to the Morris place to do some repairs, so I traded him chores for that day. She and I had a real nice visit. She makes good cookies."

"She always struck me as rather quiet, bookish..." almost mousy, dull, Murdoch was thinking, but he kept it to himself.

"Yeah, she does love her books. She writes, too. She watches wild horses and writes notes on 'em that some professor back east uses for…I don't know…whatever it is professors do. "

"I knew about her interest in animals," said Murdoch. "There are those who say she's a mystic of some sort-that she talks to them."

Johnny glanced quickly at him. "She told me she doesn't talk to them, but what she does is watch them. Keeps her mind quiet without making it up ahead of time of what they're trying to do. Each little movement or motion is like a word in a sentence, and she can learn what they mean by watching what happens next. It's really interesting."

Scott rolled his eyes. "If you say so, brother."

"No, really, Scott. You should hear her talk about how animals think and why they do what they do. You know, I can do it with horses, some. She does it with horses, and dogs, and goats, and chickens… She's gentle and calm, and they just love her. She knows how to help hurt animals get better. They get over the bad stuff that's happened to them and start trusting people again by trusting her."

Did Johnny realize he could have been describing himself? Murdoch wondered. If the Widow Morris could help Johnny "get over the bad stuff" he had encountered growing up alone she was a special lady indeed.

"You should invite her to visit, John-bring her over for dinner so we can get to know her better."

"Maybe. She told me how grateful she is to you for letting her stay on after her husband died, Murdoch. That was a kind thing you did."

"Well, I don't think she had anywhere else to go. Has she mentioned any other family to you?"

"She said her folks died when she was 15 or so. She married Morris soon after that, so it doesn't sound like there's anyone else. "

Murdoch sighed. A young girl orphaned at 15, widowed not so many years later, no children, no relatives…perhaps she needed Johnny as much as his son might need her.

"You know her husband was killed at the beginning of the trouble with Pardee, don't you? He was the second man we lost."

"I didn't know that."

"I suggested she move into town for her own safety, but she wouldn't hear of it. She said that the place she had shared with her husband was her home, and she would rather stay there." Murdoch chuckled briefly. "I believe those are the most words I ever heard from her at one time."

Johnny considered the woman he was getting to know and wasn't surprised that she insisted on staying home. After all, her animals were there. "Yeah, that's her all right. Pretty independent, maybe a little stubborn even."

"I take it you've seen her more than once or twice?" Scott asked.

"I been riding with her a couple of times. We ran into each other in Morro Coyo, too, one time." Johnny laughed to himself at some private memory. "She's got a mean sense of humor once you get to know her."

He stood up, stretched, and yawned. "I do think it's time I invited her to dinner," he announced as he headed to his room. "Sweet dreams, Murdoch. You, too, Scott."

They watched the youngest Lancer as he went off to bed, then looked at each other in amusement.

"Did he just wish us sweet dreams?" Scott asked in disbelief.

"I believe he did," Murdoch replied. "There must be more to the Widow Morris than I ever realized."

It was a small herd. There were three chestnuts and one roan; the roan kept to the outskirts of the group and was frequently run off further by the largest of the other horses. She had been watching them for several hours as they grazed near a creek bed. The last time she had studied this particular group there had been only two chestnuts, and the roan had seemed to be on a more equal footing. It wasn't easy identifying which horse was the newcomer, and she hadn't yet confirmed the gender of all the horses. These small bachelor herds were usually young males honing their skills before challenging an established stallion, but she had observed that occasionally fillies, driven out of their original herd, could show up in the bachelor herds for a short time.

Shouting and the sound of a galloping horse interrupted her concentration. The wild horses heard the noise and fled to the west. She watched them run off, tails streaming behind them, heads held high.

She turned her own horse toward the noise that had disturbed them. Her heart sped up just a little bit when she recognized Barranca. Of course it was Johnny doing the whooping and hollering and hat waving that had spooked her herd. The horse she was riding danced just a bit at the commotion, but old Tramp never did dance very much. That was one of the things that made him the perfect horse for riding out to watch herds-he was steady as a rock, unimpressed with the wild horses, and possessed of a smooth, easy trot that made riding him a pleasure.

Barranca slid to a stop beside Tramp with a snort and a shake of his head. Annoyed, Tramp laid his ears back and nipped at the younger horse with long yellow teeth. Johnny shoved his hat down on his head with a jerk of his chin. "Hey," he said with a grin. "Hey yourself," she replied. "Thanks for scaring my herd away!"

"Naw, did I do that?" he said, looking after the wild horses with an exaggerated expression of concern that disappeared instantly. "Well, I guess that frees you up to take a ride with me, don't it?"

"Yes, I guess it does. I suspect that was your plan all along, right?"

"Yep, you're right. The lady is always right. If there's one thing I've learned in all my years, it's that the lady is always right."

"You remember that." They rode side by side at a walk. She was dressed for horse watching in a plaid cotton shirt, a red bandana, and plain men's trousers. A wide brimmed straw hat should have protected her face from the sun but hung down her back instead. She had tied her hair in a simple ponytail caught at the nape of her neck, but riding and a gentle breeze had loosened some tendrils to blow about her face.

Her features weren't beautiful in a conventional sense, but the intelligence and good humor which shone in her gray eyes made people remember her as attractive.

She had ridden horses all her life and she rode well. Johnny had told her she looked right at home on her horse. She rode astride in a western saddle; she sat tall and often dangled her feet out of the stirrups, a holdover from when she rode bareback as a child. She loved to ride, loved how the slightest shift in her weight or the smallest movement of her hand holding the reins caused her horse to respond. If Tramp made any sudden movement at all her feet would find the stirrups unerringly. She was not an easy rider to unseat.

She smiled to herself, remembering how Johnny had described the way she rode as "walking the trot". Tramp had a trot so easy it was nearly an amble, and she would sit a tiny bit deeper in the saddle and just let her hips move with the motion of the horse's back. It was far less fussy than posting to the trot like cavalry riders did, and according to Johnny, it looked a while lot more interesting from behind…

She was just wondering if Johnny was contemplating trotting horses when he spoke.

"Murdoch wants me to have you over for dinner sometime."

She hesitated just a bit. "I hate to tell you this, but your father scares me a little."

Johnny laughed. "Yeah, well, he scares me, too!"

"When Mr. Morris and I called on him once, I don't think I said two words. He must have thought I was very dull."

"Because you were scared of him?"

"Maybe partly…but mostly because they were going on about things I didn't know about-metals, and tooling, and ship building, things like that. I tried to listen but I was bored to death."

"Sorta like when Murdoch starts talking about shipping schedules, or financial reports. My eyes glaze over and my head feel like the fourth day of a three day drunk."

"Then you understand." She didn't know what a three day drunk felt like, but she got his point. "When we left, Mr. Lancer seemed to look at me as if he had forgotten who I was or why I was even there!"

"He thinks you're pretty quiet. I figured he has you mixed up with somebody else, because oh, boy-one thing I know is that you sure can talk!"

She made a face at him. "I like to talk with you because you really listen to what I say. Many of the men I've known don't seem to value what women say, so I'm not very forward, usually. You're just unfortunate enough to say the right things to keep me chattering away all day!"

"Well, that's because I love to hear your voice."

She lifted her rein hand ever so slightly, bringing Tramp to a halt. "You do?"

He turned Barranca so they were facing each other, knee to knee. "It's one of the first things I noticed about you, that night in the library. Your voice is so pretty. It's real easy on a man's ears. And you don't put on airs-you say what you mean straight out. "

He leaned toward her and took her hand. She met his eyes and blushed. "I could say exactly the same thing to you. I never thought a man could have such a soft voice and still be so strong. And I like how you speak to me as an equal." He looked away, embarrassed and pleased. He spun Barranca around and trotted away; she and Tramp followed.

They rode in silence until they reached a shady grove of ash trees; there they dismounted and loosened the cinches to let the horses rest for a bit. Barranca would stay where Johnny left him; she unbridled Tramp and hobbled him. She and Johnny walked slowly through the shade, arm in arm.

"I do want you to come with me to dinner tonight."

"Tonight? Not a chance. I'm dressed for horses right now. I am not meeting with your family looking like a tomboy. Besides…."

"I know, I know. Murdoch scares you."

She drew a deep breath. "You know how people talk so politely at dinner when there's a visitor there? And how you're not supposed to discuss politics, or religion, or anything that offends anyone else at the table?"

"Nope."

She laughed at his unexpected answer. "What do you mean, 'nope'?"

"I don't know about any of those rules. Now Scott, he knows 'em all." Johnny was lighthearted when he talked about his brother. "I just let him do the talking. I eat. Sometimes I smile and nod. Mostly I eat." He demonstrated the smiling and nodding; she laughed again.

"Well, that's no help! Johnny, I'm hopeless at making polite conversation. I can talk myself blue in the face about things I know and care about, but I can't just talk for the sake of talking. I'm a horrible dinner guest. Your family will think I'm dumb as a post. "

The family dinners of her childhood were filled with spirited conversations. Her parents were abolitionists with politically active friends. Race, slavery, economics, women's suffrage-she learned a great deal about the world from dinner table discussions as she was growing up. But the conversation was organic, growing out of the convictions and passions of the people at the table. Arguments arose all the time; there was never "small talk".

She had been surprised to learn at college that ladies were expected to limit the topics of their conversation during meals.

"What did you and your mother talk about at dinner time?"she asked Johnny.

Johnny didn't reply for a long time. She didn't mind; she knew he often had to sort out his thoughts about his childhood before he could put them in words. His silence wasn't meant to be rude or dismissive. She waited.

"I think I remember family dinners when I was really little, but after Papa died…well, there weren't meals anymore. There really wasn't much food at all. And if I got something to eat I pretty much ate it as quick as I could 'cause I was so hungry."

_Johnny was four years old. Mama was bringing food for the evening meal. He would meet her as she walked up the lane to their house. When she saw him she would smile a big smile that lit up her face. She would ask him if he could help her carry the market basket; he would proudly grab the handle as they walked home together. Soon the smells of cooking would fill the house. His step father would come home and they all would sit together and eat. They talked and laughed. When it was bedtime Mama would tuck him in. She would sing a lullaby as he fell asleep and dreamed sweet dreams._

_When Johnny was seven there wasn't much food in the house. Mama worked at the cantina; sometimes she got left over food from the kitchen there. That helped, because most of the money she made went to pay for his step-father's medicine. Papa couldn't work anymore, and Johnny helped take care of him while his mama was at the cantina. Mama was so tired from working and tending to Papa that most nights she fell asleep in a chair. He went to bed by himself, whenever he wanted. Mama smiled at him when he had earned a few pennies to give her or when she noticed he had been doing chores without being told. He knew she gave him as much food as she could._

_Johnny was nine. His step-father had died and they had moved to a different town. Mama said there wasn't enough money so why didn't Johnny get a job and help her out. He did, but most of the time Mama didn't buy food with his money. She spent it on bottles, and she drank so much from the bottles that she didn't have a job any more. Once, when he used his money to buy food for them instead of giving it to her, she slapped his face and told him he was stupid. He started giving her only part of the money he earned, and using the other part to buy food, but it wasn't enough, and he cried at night because he was hungry and Mama didn't seem to care._

_By the next year he had lost track of how many times they had moved, each move to a smaller, shabbier, dirtier place. The men who came to sleep with his Mama didn't want him around, so she kicked him out when one of them was there. He spent a lot of time with other kids who had nowhere to go. They had some fun and after a while some of those other kids started to feel like friends, but his friends always seemed to disappear when trouble came. Sometimes some nice lady would take pity on him and give him something to eat. He scrounged through trash and stole when he could. Seems it was just enough to keep him alive but never enough so that he wasn't hungry. He didn't sleep much in Mama's house any more, either. Mama didn't care where he was as long as she had the men and the booze. _

She was surprised to realize they had ended up sitting on a log near where the horses grazed. She had been engrossed in Johnny's recollections and didn't remember walking there. She was silent for a long moment when he finished.

"I guess worrying about being able to make dinner conversation is pretty frivolous when you get right down to it." She tried desperately to keep her voice steady. "I can't imagine what it would have been like to go hungry."

He didn't respond. She took a moment before asking, "Does your family understand how difficult it was for you? Do they understand how difficult it still is?"

Johnny shook his head. "Not really, no. But I think _you_ do. That helps," he said to her softly. He reached over to put his arm around her. "I don't like to burden them with how things were for me. We got enough other stuff to work out, and besides, Murdoch says what's past is past." He took a deep breath as he clasped his hands together around her. "I don't know how you do it, Emily, but I tell you things that are really hard to tell and you don't feel sorry for me. You don't run scared from me, and you still seem to like me." He pulled her closer. "It means a lot, you know?"

"It means a lot to me that you tell me these things," she replied. She laid her head on his shoulder. They stayed that way, each lost in thought, for a long time.

It was mid-afternoon when they mounted up again. Leaving the shaded glen for the bright sunlight helped lighten their moods, and before long Johnny tilted his head to the side to look at her and said, "So, pretty lady, what's it going to take to get you to come to dinner with me tonight?"

"You are persistent, aren't you?"

Johnny just smiled.

"I still need to change my clothes."

"Why? You look fine. You look just like you ought to."

"I will not join you for dinner unless I can go home and change into a dress. Just because you don't care and I don't care how I dress doesn't mean we shouldn't respect other people's standards. It would be an insult to your family to do otherwise."

Johnny sighed in annoyance. "I hate it when you're logical. And reasonable. And respectful."

"…and right?"

He laughed. "…and right!"

Dinner was not the fiasco she had feared. She had ridden home to change her clothes while Johnny exchanged Barranca for a one horse driving rig; when he picked her up she noticed he, too, had changed out of his work clothes. When they arrived at the hacienda Johnny had offered his arm to a surprised Theresa while Scott escorted Emily to the table. She was amused to see that although everyone else drank wine with dinner, Johnny drank milk. The food was plentiful-something she doubted she would have even noticed if not for her conversation with Johnny that afternoon.

Scott did indeed guide most of the conversation. He was so charmingly talented at it that Emily felt far less tongue-tied than she usually did in such circumstances. She and Murdoch reminisced about her late husband. Although Emily found it hard to talk about Mr. Morris, she was grateful to hear that Mr. Lancer had held him in such high regard. The discussion turned towards books and literature, and finally to the subject of horses. Scott included everyone in the small talk but, true to his word, Johnny mostly ate, smiled, and nodded.

Still, Johnny and Emily were relieved when the dinner was done. "I guess that didn't go all that badly," she ventured as they started away from the hacienda in the surrey.

"Coulda been worse." He still did not seem to feel comfortable talking; he held the lines and stared out over the horse's ears, shoulders hunched, his elbows on his knees. With distance and the setting sun he was able to relax bit by bit. By the time she was home they were comfortable again.

Dusk had darkened nearly into night. Johnny walked her to the front door, smiling as she greeted her old dog who had been waiting for her on the porch. The dog grinned and wagged all over when he saw her, and wagged some more when he saw Johnny. "That kind of welcome home just makes everything better, don't it?" Johnny said.

She nodded in agreement. "I don't know what I'd do without him," she said. "I don't feel nearly so alone when he's around."

Johnny pulled her gently into his arms. "You aren't alone anymore, Emily," he murmured, just before he kissed her. "And neither am I."


	3. Chapter 3 Accepting

With thanks to & appreciation of my fine beta, Karen

Accepting

She had been getting used to the idea of being alone for the rest of her life.

Her marriage had not turned out to be as fulfilling as she had hoped. She'd felt isolated for most of it, first as she had grieved for her parents and later…well, recognizing the limitations of her relationship with her husband had engendered its own form of mourning. She worked hard to learn to love him after a fashion. She had found herself truly alone in an unfamiliar world after he was killed.

Just as she was resigning herself to the emptiness, just as she was figuring out how to cope with it, she met this soft-spoken, intense, complicated man who made her feel more like herself than she had in a very long time. Being with Johnny restored the joy she hadn't realized was gone from her life.

She had never known Johnny Madrid. Johnny had left that way of life behind before she'd met him. His former life as a gunfighter wasn't a secret; she just hadn't given it much thought.

But late one afternoon, after a quiet supper together, they relaxed in the rocking chairs on her front porch and he said hesitantly, "I need to talk to you about something."

Her heart sank. "You're scaring me," she said. "That's what people say before they tell really bad news."

"Well, it's not news." She could tell he was nervous-his legs were jiggling and his fingers worried at the strings of the hat he held in his lap. "You and me have been spending a lot of time together, and I think it's time you know the kind of man I am."

She laughed softly, temporarily relieved. "I already know the kind of man you are."

He looked apprehensive. "You do?"

"Of course I do! You're a good man, a kind man, a capable man, an honorable man, a gentle man, an intelligent man, a charming man, a handsome man…shall I go on?"

He gave her a rueful smile. "You know you're making this harder for me, don't you?"

She smiled back but he had dipped his head and didn't see. "I mean, I'm glad you think that of me. But I haven't always…" He stopped to gather his courage. "Ooh, boy, this is harder than I thought!" He gave a short laugh to cover his discomfiture.

"My life has changed a whole lot in the last year or so. I'm Johnny Lancer now." He shook his head as if he didn't believe it himself. "I have a home, a family, and a real special lady in my life. Boy, I never even dreamed…" He stopped. His smile became sad before it faded away. "Before I was Johnny Lancer, I was Johnny Madrid. And Johnny Madrid is who I need to talk to you about."

He focused on the wooden planks of the porch floor. He suddenly appeared older, harder. For an instant she barely recognized him. "Since I was 15 I made my living with my gun. That's a pretty way of sayin' I killed men for money."

She had never thought of it that way. The realization dismayed her.

_He was a smart-mouthed kid with no fear and nothing to lose, and he wasn't going to take any more shit from anybody. No one jumped into a fight faster than Johnny. His natural coordination and quickness came in real handy. He fought hard and dirty with fists, knives-it didn't matter. He took beatings and came back for more. He learned fast and he rarely made the same mistake twice; if he did, he healed quickly. He used his anger to overcome the pain. It worked well. _

_He hooked up with a group of small time banditos, acting as a lookout and a messenger. The banditos fed him, and when they paid him he bought bullets and disappeared. He practiced with his gun for hours on end until he was out of ammunition. Then he came back to town and waited for the banditos to offer him another job._

_When a pistolero joined the bandits, Johnny couldn't take his eyes off the man. He drank in his confidence, his way of dressing, how he sat his horse, how he cared for his guns. _

_And how no one messed with the guy. _

_He began tending the man's horse each evening at camp, making sure the animal had the best of everything. The pistolero noticed. He knew what the boy wanted. Late one afternoon he waved Johnny over. _

"_Show me," the pistolero said. _

"_Show you what?" Johnny replied. _

"_Take your gun and show me how good you are."_

_Johnny dropped his eyes. "I don't have no bullets."_

_The pistolero barked out a laugh. "What the hell? You wanna be a pistolero? You think you can be a pistolero without bullets? You just gonna point your gun and say 'Bang'? What kind of idiot are you, anyway?" He began to walk away. "Stay away from my horse, asshole," he shot back over his shoulder._

_Johnny felt the whole camp laughing at him. He left that night._

_He thought the Army would have regular meals, but he was wrong. He was expected to follow orders even if they were stupid; Johnny wasn't very good at that. Like many of the peasants he served with, he soon deserted. To avoid the patrols he headed north across the border. He waylaid travelers with his empty gun, stealing their food and their money to keep from starving._

_He was sentenced to three months in a gringo prison. Meals weren't tasty but they were regular. He didn't have to search for a safe place to sleep. If he kept his mouth shut he didn't get beat up much._

_The irony that prison was better than his life outside was not lost on him. _

_He met a third rate gunhawk in prison. The guy was flattered to have someone listen to him. He went on endlessly about his trade. Johnny learned a lot from that guy. He learned that this was something he could do; he already knew it was something he wanted to do. He wanted to be the man that nobody messed with._

_Once he got out he found a job at a livery. He slept with the horses and didn't eat much so he'd have more money for ammunition. He bought a gunbelt. He practiced what he had learned from the man in jail using the bullets he bought with his earnings. He was naturally accurate, and he knew he was getting fast. He practiced moving as he shot-running, diving, rolling, crouching. He practiced until his hands were sore. _

_He knew that smiling at bullies really pissed them off, so he perfected a smile to look like he didn't have a care in the world. He added an air of total relaxation no matter how tense he was. He topped it off with a soft Anglo drawl pitched low so men had to strain to hear him. He created Madrid. He practiced until he thought he was ready._

_The first man he called out was just a guy in a bar who looked at him the wrong way and made a crack about him being too young to drink with the men. Johnny was a pistolero now, and he wasn't going to take any shit from anybody. He challenged the man to a gun fight. The guy seemed eager to teach the cocky kid a lesson. _

_The time had come. He was plenty scared. He wasn't even able to maintain his façade-the smile melted and his whole body trembled. He forgot to crouch when he drew and fired. But he ended up standing and the other guy ended up dead. _

_Johnny looked down at the dead man's face and wished it was one of his mama's men. _

_Maybe it was. _

_He felt big. He felt powerful. He thought nothing bad could ever happen to him again. _

_Ten minutes later he was puking in an alleyway. The rush was gone, leaving behind flop sweat and a hollowness in his gut. It could have been him laying there in the dirt, dying. Instead it was someone else, dead, because of him. There was no going back. He was 15 years old._

Her mind reeled. She sorted through a flood of questions trying to find one that didn't sound like an accusation. She couldn't. All she could think to ask was "Why?"

"I was so damn tired of being hungry. I was tired of being treated like I didn't count for shit." He drew in a deep breath. "I was good with my gun…and it was the only way I could see to make them leave me the hell alone."

She sat still in her rocker with that ugly old dog in her lap; she absently petted his ears. Johnny chanced a look at her and saw sadness. Damn, he hadn't expected that. Disgust, maybe, or pity…

Her voice was low when she asked, "Did it work?"

"I guess so. It wasn't long before people were trying real hard to stay out of my way." A look of something-regret?-crossed his face and he was silent for a moment. "I started getting a few jobs. Not many, at first, for not much money. At the time I pretty much did whatever anybody would pay me to do."

He hesitated before pressing on. "Some of the things they paid me to do I'm not proud of. "

"Like what?" she asked quietly, afraid of the answer.

He answered to the air in front of him, as if putting the words out there would make them less painful. "One time I got paid to scare a shopkeeper out of town. I shot up the front of his store. When he ran out… I shot him, too. His kids were in the store, watching me kill their old man."

"Oh dear God," she whispered.

"God wasn't there that day. God wasn't ever there," he said flatly.

"I can't imagine you doing that, Johnny. I just can't…"

He interrupted her impatiently. "I did it. It's what I wanted to do. I wanted to be good at it, and I _was_ good at it. I took the money and once I wasn't hungry any more I went drinking and whoring and gambling…" He rose to his feet and leaned heavily against the wooden beam supporting the roof of the porch, his back to her. His eyes gazed, unseeing, at the fading light of early evening. "I thought I was living the good life. I didn't know until later on that what I was really doing was killing my own future."

"How could you have known? You were so young then."

His reply broke her heart. "I was never young."

"You were! You just didn't know it. You were by yourself with no one to guide you or help you know right from wrong."

He pushed off the post and turned to her angrily. "Oh, come on, Emily, I knew killing was wrong! " He made a gesture with his fist as if throwing something to the ground. The old dog jumped off her lap and looked at him warily.

"I don't understand. You knew it was wrong, but you kept doing it? Even after you realized you were killing your own future? Why didn't you stop?"

Anguish mixed with the anger in his voice. "I couldn't! Once I started getting a name, I started getting called out because of that name. Every time I walked away my name got bigger. I hadn't thought it all the way through, you know." He scoffed at himself. "The only way to stop the train I was on was to get dead. And every time the other guy died instead of me that old train just kept going faster and faster and pretty soon my whole entire existence was a runaway train."

"But you _did_ get off that train. You don't do that anymore."

"But I did it then," he insisted.

"Oh, Johnny, I know you wish you never had to kill for a living."

"Do I?" He glared at her defiantly.

"Don't you?" she shot back in disbelief.

"A lot of the men I killed needed killin'. I'm not sorry about that."

She matched the intensity of his gaze with a fierceness of her own. "Did that shopkeeper need it?"

Her question brought him up short. His anger evaporated, leaving behind a familiar dull emptiness. "No," he said, dropping his eyes.

She kept pushing. "Do you regret having killed him?"

"Of course I do." He sounded defeated. "But I can't undo it. I can regret it all I want but he's still just as dead. They're all just as dead."

A silence grew between them filled with unspoken words, unfinished thoughts. Johnny seemed smaller somehow. His expression was somber as he stared once again at the floor, where the old dog had placed himself between them. The dog regarded him with suspicion and edged closer to Emily.

She didn't want to reawaken Johnny's anger. She phrased her next question carefully, hoping it would offer some kind of solace. "If you were hired now to run that shopkeeper off, would you do it differently?"

He looked up slowly to meet her eyes. She was shocked when he smiled at her; she felt like the sun had broken through the clouds. The tension between them dissipated. "Oh, Emily, you're trying to let me off the hook!"

He held out his hands; she rose from her chair to take them in hers. "Come here, honey," he said as he pulled her close. He turned her around, her back to him, crossing her arms in front of her as he held her from behind.

He hugged her close while he continued, "I could tell you that I became too expensive a gun to deal with penny-ante jobs like that. I could tell you that I learned better ways to run people off without killing 'em. I could tell you I reached a point where I wouldn't take a job like that no matter how much money they offered me. And each answer would be true, but each would be a lie, because I can never go back and change what I did. Just because I wouldn't do it today doesn't absolve me of what I did in the past."

"What does absolve you?"

Johnny sighed as he gently rested his chin on the top of her head. "I don't know. Is there really such a thing as absolution?"

She leaned back into him, relishing the closeness. "There has to be. People make mistakes. They regret them. They learn from them, and in time they forgive themselves. I think that's absolution. It comes from inside. You can't forget the bad things you did. You can't change them or take them back. But you can forgive yourself."

"I need to know if _you_ can live with the things that I did. Can _you_ forgive me?"

She answered thoughtfully. "I think there's a difference between living with what you did and thinking you need my forgiveness. I hate what you did, Johnny, and it hurts me…it hurts to know how you grew up with violence all around you. I hate what you needed to do to survive. But I'm so very glad you _did_ survive! And I'm glad when you got the chance to leave the killing behind, you did."

"Answer me straight. I killed a lot of men, Emily. Can you live with that?"

She turned in his embrace to look steadily up at him. "Yes, I can. Nothing you have told me changes what I feel about you." She smiled at him. "You need to forgive yourself for the things you did-learn from them and move on. Allow yourself to be the good man I believe you always have been."

He hugged her tightly with relief and gave her a lopsided grin. "When did you get so smart, pretty lady?"

"When I baked those cookies the first time you came over. Smartest thing I ever did."

He pulled back in surprise. "Wait a minute! How did you…? I wasn't even supposed to come to your place that day!"

"And yet…" She grinned wickedly.

He feigned indignity. "And here I am telling everybody you don't play games!"

"Oh, I don't _play_ games. I _win_ games."

They laughed together. The old dog had fallen asleep. Their laughter entered his dreams, and he wagged his tail.


	4. Chapter 4 Swimming

Swimming

By Doc

She knew Johnny loved the heat of summer, and she tried to enjoy it with him. Today they were taking a ride. But the heat was relentless, the bugs were bad, the horses weren't happy, and neither she nor Johnny had much to say. When he turned his horse south and trotted up a hill she very nearly stopped; she was ready to go home. But her horse followed his to the top, and as she caught up she saw the stream and the little lake below. "Looks refreshing, don't it?" He grinned at her.

The horses picked their way slowly down to the lake. "Can you swim?" he asked.

"A little," she replied, "but I wasn't expecting to swim today." She meant she didn't have a bathing outfit.

Johnny gave her that great big smile. "Me, neither, but hey, there's some water!" His voice was smiling too.

They dismounted, led the horses forward for a drink, then left them loosely tied in the shade. Johnny grabbed her hand and pulled her down to the edge of the water. He plopped down on a convenient flat rock and took off his boots and socks, rolled up his pants, and stepped into the clear water. "Hoo boy this feels good!" He laughed up at her. "C'mon, join me!"

She removed her shoes and socks as well, and rolled up the bottom of the riding pants she wore. The water was cold and took her breath away for an instant. She wobbled a little and Johnny moved to her, steadied her, and then pulled her close. His kiss surprised her and she did not return it right away. He looked into her eyes and she saw the "why" in his; when he lifted her chin with the crook of his gentle fingers and their lips met again she did not hesitate. Now it was not the water that took her breath away. His kiss was soft, and deep, and lingering. She had never been kissed like that. "Don't ever stop," she whispered when they broke apart, and he kissed her again.

"If we're gonna swim we've got too many clothes on." He stepped back to undo his gun belt and laid it carefully on the rock. He threw his hat next to it and began to pull his shirt off over his head.

"Johnny, what are you doing?" She didn't know whether to be embarrassed or mad or excited. She decided to be all three.

"Taking off my clothes. You should, too. Want some help?" He grinned as he threw his shirt on his hat. He took her gently around the waist and slowly began untucking her shirt. Once it was free he carefully unbuttoned it. She was afraid to move, afraid to breathe. Her arms rested on his bare shoulders. He kissed her as he slid his hands inside her shirt, up her ribcage, then down her arms to remove her shirt. "Is this OK?" he asked as he tossed her shirt next to his; she nodded. Her chemise was thin and lacy; when he pulled her into his embrace she felt his chest on her breasts. She was no longer embarrassed. Or mad.

"Gotta get our pants off if we really intend to swim," Johnny said after another kiss. His voice was soft and a little husky. His eyes never left hers as he undid his own pants and stepped out of them, then pulled hers off down over her hips. Their two pairs of pants joined the other clothing on the flat rock.

He was wearing cut off long underwear; she was wearing knickers. Now Johnny's eyes strayed over her body, taking in her breasts, her hips, before traveling back up to her face. "Oh, you are lovely," he sighed as she stood in front of him. She looked him up and down as well, at his muscles and his legs and the undeniable sign of his attraction to her.

"Now would be a good time to swim," Johnny said, "because if we don't I'm going to have to take you right here…" and he fell backwards into the water, splashing and laughing and totally obliterating the spell he had woven.

She grinned and dove after him.

The coolness of the water stayed with them as they sunned themselves on the rocks. She lay on her back. Johnny, lying on his side, propped himself up on one elbow to look at her. "I do want you, you know," he said quietly as he toyed with her hair. "I think you want me, too."

She was silent. What could she say?

"What are you afraid of?" How did he know she was afraid?

She closed her eyes so she could reply without falling into his. "I'm afraid you'll be disappointed with me…"

He laughed softly and shook his head. "That's crazy talk," he said. "How could you possibly disappoint me? You are so lovely, and so sweet, and when I kiss you my heart jumps around in my chest…"

She smiled at that. "Oh, mine too. But you have so much more…experience than I do. I've only ever been with one man," she said. "We were married and it was his right and my duty. He was good to me and kind enough, I guess, but it was never anything that really meant anything to me. I know you have been with…ladies…who know so much more than I do…"

He started to laugh at her again, but saw her eyes stayed tightly closed, hiding from him.

"Look at me," he said. She opened her eyes to meet his. "It's not a contest. I love you. I want to be with you. Yes, I've been with others. So have you. That doesn't matter now."

She was unconvinced.

"When I was younger I spent a lot of time in whorehouses. The women there, most of them, didn't have a lot of choices. They were stayin' alive as best they could. It doesn't take any particular talent to be a whore. You just gotta be willing to take what comes your way."

She appreciated his matter of fact approach; she adopted it. "I bet you liked some of them better than others, though. What made you like one lady more than another?"

"It depends. Sometimes I liked it if they just kept their mouths shut and got on with it. Other times I liked it if I could talk to 'em, laugh with 'em. When I got older and it was less of a novelty, then skill maybe entered into it."

"That's it right there, Johnny. How does a woman who isn't a whore learn those skills?"

Johnny looked at her with a grin, his eyes dancing. "I guess she learns 'em from her man! And I would dearly love to teach you, lovely lady!" She couldn't help but grin back at him, but she was still afraid.

"How many women have you loved, Johnny?"

He was surprised, and carefully considered his answer. "Usually I get asked how many men have I killed. I'm not sure I like this question any better."

She didn't take the bait. Sitting up, she hugged her knees to her chest. Her eyes sought his-looking for reassurance, he felt, that she mattered more to him than the whores she worried about.

"Let me tell you about sex. Sometimes a man can take his pleasure wherever it's offered-it's a natural fact that men like fucking. But when a man is in love, really in love with a special person who means the world to him…" and he looked straight into her worried eyes so she could see he was speaking the truth; his voice got softer, musical, "then sex becomes so special. It becomes…" he struggled for the right word. "It becomes a song, a sacrament, a way for two separate people to become as close to being the same person…" his voice trailed off.

"Have you ever felt that way about a woman? " It wasn't easy for her to ask that question. She had never felt that way; she couldn't help hoping that he never had, either.

Now it was Johnny who squeezed his eyes shut. He understood what she was asking, and why. He didn't want to hurt her. But she deserved the truth.

"I have." He offered nothing more.

When he opened his eyes she saw a hint of sadness pass by. Then he smiled gently at her; she smiled back. "And now, I feel that way about you. When I tell you I desire you I'm telling you I love you, and that I want to make you as happy as you make me."

"And if I tell you I desire you, too, but that I'm not ready yet, will that change things between us? "

With a sigh Johnny rolled over onto his back. He opened up his arms in invitation, and she lay against him. He held her close and spoke softly into her ear. "I love you too much to ask you to do something you aren't ready for. Just promise me one thing."

"What one thing?"

"That when you are ready I'm the first to know."

She smiled. "I promise."


	5. Chapter 5 Giving

Giving

By Doc

August 2012

By all logic Scott should have been the Lancer brother to become involved with the Widow Morris. The two shared an Eastern background, a high level of education, and a reputation for being sensible and level-headed. But it was Scott's volatile younger brother Johnny who was courting the quiet young widow.

At first Scott thought Mrs. Morris too ordinary for a man of Johnny's complexity. He knew the outwardly cynical former gunfighter possessed a core of decency and compassion unsuspected by most. But Scott watched the two develop a deep and abiding interest in the well-being of the other, and he realized that Johnny trusted Emily Morris. That was good enough for Scott.

Besides, he liked seeing Johnny in love with a woman who calmed his restlessness without demanding that he be still. She accepted his temper without permitting it to harm her. Most importantly, she loved him for the man he was.

So when Johnny came to him with questions about courtship, Scott did his best to help.

The ride to Black Mesa was familiar enough for the brothers to settle into a rhythm of easy conversation. They enjoyed catching up on the latest gossip from the ranch hands, sharing the best dirty jokes they had heard recently, telling tall tales. Sometimes they even discussed matters of importance.

"Scott," Johnny began. "Can I ask you for some advice?"

"Sure," Scott replied. "Get a haircut."

Johnny flashed a grin. "Nah, I'm serious, now, Boston. You know Emily…"

"Ah! Emily Grace, the young Widow Morris."

Johnny chuckled at his brother's pretentious tone. "Well, I want to give her something."

Scott raised an eyebrow teasingly. Johnny caught the innuendo. "Like a present, Scott, that's all. A gift, y'know?"

"All right. What's the occasion?"

"Nothin' special."

Scott considered teasing his brother further, but decided against it. "Well, brother, gifts given for nothing special are usually small mementos which the giver has stumbled upon and which have reminded him of the recipient. Has something recently reminded you of Mrs. Morris?"

"Everything I see these days reminds me of her," Johnny admitted. He wore that small smile, the one that meant he was thinking about her.

"Well, that certainly narrows it down," Scott replied. He thought 'Oh, brother, you've got it bad!', but didn't say it out loud. "Let me ask you this: have you given her any gifts yet?"

"Uh-huh. She likes flowers, so I picked some to give her when I knew I was going to see her."

"Flowers are always a good choice. Has she given you any gifts?"

Johnny shook his head. "No…unless do cookies count?"

"Hmmm. I guess that depends on if she made them specifically for you."

"Since she lives alone I have to figure she makes them 'specially for me. Where's all this going, Scott?"

"I am merely trying to ascertain the current level of gift exchange in your relationship. And I must say, it isn't very impressive."

Johnny snorted. "That's why I'm asking for your help. It doesn't have to be anything fancy-just something to let her know I've been thinking about her. Something that when she sees it she thinks of me."

Scott considered this. "A locket, perhaps?"

Johnny shook his head. "She don't wear any jewelry that I've ever seen."

"That doesn't mean she wouldn't treasure such a gift from you. I've never known a young lady who didn't adore jewelry."

"I don't know…it seems kind of impersonal, you know?"

They turned the horses off the main trail. Not exactly a shortcut, the flat surface of the meadow they were crossing invited a faster pace. They let the horses lope until they were across and the ground became uneven. When they slowed once again to a walk, Scott spoke. "Let's try another approach. What do you two do when you're together?"

Johnny thought for a moment. "Oh, we ride. We do chores at her place. We talk. We take walks. Sometimes she reads out loud." There was that little smile again.

Scott pretended to stifle a yawn. "No offense, but it doesn't sound like you and Mrs. Morris have a very exciting time of it."

To his surprise, Johnny's smile turned into a huge grin. "I guess not, but it's OK with me. I figure 'exciting' is just another way of saying 'dangerous', and I've had enough of that to last me a lifetime. Besides, I've known women who are 'exciting' and they're just plain difficult to get along with. Me and Emily Grace just like being together, and we both like how easy we feel."

"Johnny, you are a very wise young man." Scott was impressed. "Your relationship with Emily Morris may be boring, but I find myself envying you." Scott paused as he thought of another gift idea. "How about a book of poetry? We know she likes books. Does she like poetry?"

"_She_ might._ I_ sure don't." Johnny laughed when Barranca echoed his disdainful snort.

Scott sighed. "This isn't about what _you_ like. This is about a gift to a special lady. It needs to be something she enjoys. If she enjoys poetry, give her a book of poems that tell her how you feel about her."

"How do I know they do that?"

Scott raised an eyebrow. "You have to read them."

Johnny made a rude noise. "Sounds like work."

"Do you want my advice or not?" Scott was getting a little irritated.

"Yeah, yeah…I'm just feelin' a little out of my class, you know?" Johnny rubbed his forehead, grimacing, then resettled his hat on his head with a jut of his chin. "Poetry, huh? I suppose you have something in mind?"

Scott nodded. "As a matter of fact, yes. I recently ordered a book of sonnets - love poems. Read it when it arrives, and if it meets with your approval, I'll let you have it."

Johnny was not convinced. "Tell you what. If I haven't thought of anything else by the time that book gets here, I'll take a look at it. And thanks, Scott."

"Any time, Johnny, any time." They continued their companionable journey.

After breakfast the following Sunday Johnny sat alone at the kitchen table with Scott's new book. He leafed gingerly through it as if it might bite. He stopped to read a few words, frowned, turned a few pages, read some more. None of the words seemed right.

He took a sip of coffee and looked at a few more pages. The poems didn't make any sense to him. Wondering what was so special about poetry, he tried reading aloud-very quietly-to see if the words sounded better than they looked.

To his surprise they did.

He continued to sample the poems, reading parts out loud in a low voice, drinking his coffee. A few lines began to have meaning. Reading more, he began to appreciate an underlying rhythm.

He was surprised to realize that some poems conveyed far more than their words alone seemed to say. Gradually, without realizing it, he found the beauty in poetry.

Near the end of the book he came across a poem that started with the words: "How do I love thee? Let me count the ways."

With a jolt he thought of Emily; those words captured her. She was just that straightforward, that plainspoken. Every one of those words counted for something, just like Emily's when she talked.

"I love thee to the depth and breadth and height/My soul can reach…" In his head he could hear her voice saying those words, and he wished she was with him right now.

An idea came to him about the gift he wanted to give her-the gift to let her know he was thinking about her, and which would make her think of him. He refilled his coffee cup, grabbed the book of poems, and made for Murdoch's desk.

She had spent the day in Green River writing letters for some of the older folks who had difficulty taking up a pen. It was one of her favorite pastimes because it gave her a chance to hear stories and catch up on the latest news.

When she rode home just before supper time her old dog greeted her enthusiastically at the end of the lane. When he ran to the side of the porch where the rocking chairs were she dared to hope she would find Johnny there, even though there was no sign of his horse. It had been a while since she had seen him, and she missed him.

Johnny wasn't there, but on the small wooden table between the chairs was a package wrapped neatly in brown paper and tied with a red ribbon. On top of the package was a rose.

She smiled.

She picked up the rose; he had removed the thorns from its stem. She enjoyed the scent for a moment before setting the flower down and turning to the package.

From its size and shape she thought it must be a picture in a frame. Still smiling, wondering what picture Johnny was giving her, she undid the ribbon and opened the package.

Instead of a picture the simple pewter frame held a sheet of stationery. There were lines of writing in a masculine, angular hand. As she read the poem that Johnny had carefully copied onto the paper she realized that the smaller words between the lines were Johnny's own.

She blinked tears from her eyes so she could read:

Sonnets from the Portuguese

by Elizabeth Barret Browning

How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.

**I thought of you right away when I read this.**

I love thee to the depth and breadth and height

**Our love fills all of me**

My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight

For the ends of Being and ideal Grace.

**I don't understand this part, but it's got your name, and it's pretty**

I love thee to the level of everyday's

Most quiet need, by sun and candlelight.

**I need you like I need air and light**

I love thee freely, as men strive for Right;

I love thee purely, as they turn from Praise.

**Loving you helps me be a good man**

I love thee with the passion put to use

In my old griefs, and with my childhood's faith.

**The feelings I used hating are better used to love you**

I love thee with a love I seemed to lose

**There was a time I didn't think I could love anyone**

With my lost saints,—I love thee with the breath,

**All of me, good and bad, loves you**

Smiles, tears, of all my life!—and, if God choose,

I shall but love thee better after death.

**Even death won't stop me loving you**

– **Johnny**


	6. Chapter 6 Healing

Healing

By Doc

The pain was easing somewhat but she was still very weak. The doctor had said she could leave her bed today and move around the house a bit.

"Hey, Sunshine!" Johnny strolled in from her front room where he had spent another night on the couch. He'd been up and dressed for a while, waiting for her to stir. He rubbed his hands together briskly. "Ready to eat a meal at a table like regular folks? I figured I'd make us some bacon and eggs."

Johnny had been staying with her ever since the attack. Initially Murdoch had been reluctant to allow it for fear of causing gossip, but neither she nor Johnny cared very much what other people thought. Johnny wanted to care for her, and she needed him there. When she was strong enough she would finish her recovery at the hacienda, but until then there was no one else she wanted with her.

Besides, she was pleasantly surprised at his cooking. She disliked cooking, herself. It was easy to skip meals since her husband had passed away, or just have a piece of bread and a cup of tea.

Johnny's attitude towards food had been equally haphazard. If there was work to be done or horses to ride, neither of them remembered to plan ahead to eat. They just went hungry until they ended up somewhere with food.

But since she had been hurt Johnny had made sure there were three meals a day even if he had to cook them himself.

"Morning, Johnny." She smiled as he kissed the top of her head. He steadied her as she swung her legs over the side of bed and sat up. Moving hurt; but then so did lying in bed. Abrasions and bruises covered her body; she had a broken rib; and her face hurt, too. She had begun to wonder what she looked like.

"I've been thinking about looking in the mirror today," she said to him. "Should I be afraid?" She was trying to make light of it.

"You're still pretty banged up. Lotsa pretty colors there, though…" His voice was joking, but his eyes were concerned. He helped her to her feet.

She steeled herself to look in the mirror at her swollen face. She was expecting the cuts and the bruising, but she gasped and reached up to her hair. She hadn't realized her attackers had cut so much of it off. Johnny stepped close to her and turned her away from the mirror as her tears began to fall. He ran his hands through what remained of her hair as she cried quietly into his chest.

"I'm sorry," he murmured. "God, I'm so sorry."

"They made me ugly."

"No, no," was all he could think of to say.

She shook her head. There was no lightness in her any more. "I feel ugly. I hurt all over. I hate this. I hate _them_. I've never hated anyone before and I hate them so much…"

"I know. I know. It's OK…"

She caught her breath and stilled her tears. She continued more quietly as she relaxed into his arms.

"Did they catch them?"

He stared at her, not understanding her words and fearing briefly for her sanity.

"Is there going to be a trial? Am I going to have to tell everyone what happened?"

Then it hit him-she didn't know! She had been barely conscious in the barn when he killed them, and in the days since then no one had spoken of what happened, at least not in front of her. Oh god…

"No, no trial. They're dead."

"Both of them?"

"Yes. Both of them."

She said nothing for a long time. Finally she sat back down on the bed. "I don't know how to feel about that. "

He sat beside her, put his arm around her. He carefully drew her close and waited.

"What happened, Johnny? How did they die?"

He shut his eyes for a moment. "Does it make a difference?"

"I don't know. I don't know anything right now except…how bad I feel. There's a part of me that wants to know that they suffered. It's an ugly thing…oh, god, they made me ugly on the inside, too!" She buried her face in her hands and cried again. He held onto her. "It's OK," he repeated again and again. Today was the first time she had cried.

She looked at him, suddenly doubtful.

"Are you sure they're dead?"

"I'm sure."

"Did you see them?"

"It was me that killed them." His voice was both quiet and hard.

"Oh." They had talked about his days as a gun for hire. He had confessed to her that for him, at first, killing a man seemed so easy. It was only as he had grown up that he began to realize how it damaged his soul. "Oh. I'm sorry…sorry that you had to do that."

"No, I saw what they had done. They were going to die."

He took a deep breath. "I hated them too, you know. What happened…what they did to you… I had to stop them from hurting you anymore. And I did."

"When did it happen? Where was I? I don't remember it. "

"That's good. Best if you don't." Let me do the remembering for you, Johnny thought. I can handle it. It's all my fault, after all.

"No, I need you to tell me. What happened?"

Johnny let the memory rush back in. The gun he saw pointed at her head, his reflexive jump to knock it away, how he grabbed it without thinking and shot across her. And how he beat the life out of the guy whose gun he used-slamming his head again and again on the hard floor until his terrible rage at what they had done to her was spent. Shooting a man was bad enough; he had gotten used to that way of death. But smashing a man's head until he died? He wasn't ashamed, exactly…but he didn't want her to know. She had been hurt badly by the ordeal, and he was still trying to protect her as she came to terms with it.

He sighed. "I rode in and they met me. I asked about you. They said you were in the barn. I found you there." He faltered for an instant. "I looked up, and one of them had a gun…so I grabbed it and killed them. Then I forgot about them and took care of you."

"Are you in any trouble for killing them?"

Right to the point, as always. It was one of the things he liked about her. "I talked to the sheriff, explained what happened. He shook my hand and that was that."

"Am I supposed to thank you?" He smiled at her, hearing a little spirit back in her voice.

"I reckon that's up to you, pretty lady."

She looked directly into his eyes and said, "Thank you for saving my life. I'm sorry you had to kill them, but I'm sorry because of what it does to you, not because they're dead. "

He lowered his eyes. It's all my fault, he thought. "Come sit in the kitchen while I make breakfast," is what he said.

"So who taught you to cook?" she asked as he lit the stove. She sat at the kitchen table, her old dog at her feet. She wore a cotton wrap over her night clothes.

"Lotsa people." He warmed up a skillet and started the bacon frying. "My mama, a little. I learned campfire cooking on the trail. I learned a lot from Renaldo…" he stopped.

"You've never mentioned Renaldo before."

Johnny smiled. "He took me in when I was about 12, I guess. I haven't thought about him for a while. It was south of the border. .."

His small size and his smart mouth attracted trouble from a gang of older kids; they jumped him on the outskirts of town, beat and kicked him bloody, and one of them stuck a knife in his side. He thought he was going to die right then, but the gang scattered, leaving Johnny moaning on the ground, when an old peasant passed by with a mule.

The old man took him home and cared for him. It wasn't clear why.

He awoke not knowing where he was. He heard someone moving slowly not far from him. He opened his eyes to the sight of a bent-over white-haired man with a basin of water approaching him as he lay on a cot. He considered bolting but he felt far too weak to move. "Where am I?" he asked. The old man knelt beside him and said "You are in my house. I found you by the road. Where do you live, young man? Your mama and papa must be worried."

He didn't answer. The old man touched his shoulder, then lifted him to a sitting position and began unwinding the bloody bandage that covered the wound on his side. With gentle hands he washed the wound and rebound it. Johnny caught his breath at the pain but did not make a sound. The old man gave the boy some water, then laid him back down on the cot.

He must have passed out again, or maybe he actually slept, because the next thing he was aware of was the smell of beans and rice. The old man scooped some into a bowl and brought it to him. Johnny realized he was hungry. "Gracias," he said to the old man, who nodded gravely.

He watched the old man cleaning up from the simple meal, wondering when the questions would start. Usually when folks helped him they wanted to know stuff about him, stuff that wasn't anybody's business but his own. But after his lack of response to the old man's initial question about where he lived, there had been no further attempts to force him to talk.

The next morning Johnny felt better. He sat up in the cot as the old man fixed breakfast. "Are you feeling better, my young friend?" his host asked. Here it comes, he thought. Better make the first move.

"I'm not your friend," said the boy. The old man seemed not to have heard him. He handed Johnny a bowl of beans and rice. "Nothin' but beans again, old man?" Johnny sneered. The old man said nothing but took Johnny's bowl out of his grasp and set it aside. "Hey! What are you doing?" the boy protested.

The old man looked at him impassively. "You will eat when you show me respect," he said with a small shrug. Johnny laughed and launched into a tirade of smart remarks and threats. The old man continued eating, ignoring him. Johnny's words became coarser, more insulting as his anger grew.

He got up out of bed and moved towards the bowl of beans, but the old man was there before he could reach them. He took the bowl and quickly tossed the beans out the door.

"Son of a bitch!" Johnny shouted, and he grabbed the old man by the arm. The peasant did nothing to defend himself. "Shit," said the boy. He couldn't bring himself to hit the old man. The peasant looked into Johnny's eyes without anger or recrimination, but he didn't offer him any more food. In a little while the old man left the hut without a word.

Johnny was weak, hungry, angry, and confused. He rummaged through the hut but there was precious little of any value. There was nothing else to eat. He figured maybe he could at least steal the mule, but when he stepped outside he ran into the old man sitting in the sun, braiding strips of leather together.

"Are you feeling better?" the old man asked.

Johnny bit back the retort that came to him. "Pretty sore," he admitted.

"Is there someone you should be getting back to?"

Johnny's answer was bitter. "Who would want me?"

The old man looked searchingly at him. "You may stay here for a while."

"What's your name, old man?" The old man looked at him a long time without answering.

"I am Renaldo." He finally spoke. "And you are…?"

"Johnny."

"Johnny, it is a pleasure to have you as my guest."

He looked for the sarcasm he expected from the courtliness of the reply. Instead, he saw the old man looking at him intently, expectantly.

"Uh, Senor Renaldo, thank you for taking me in."

"You are welcome, Johnny."

And that was the start. Johnny found it hard to believe at first, that someone who had nothing to gain from it was helping him. It had been so long since he had lived with another person who cared about him, so long since he hadn't had to fight for…anything. He would smart off at the old man, but Renaldo never replied. The only time the he talked to Johnny was when Johnny spoke respectfully. For a while it was a game for Johnny-see how rude he could be before Renaldo lost it and hit him like everyone else did. But there was nothing that Johnny could say that got the old man's goat. He also only got food when he was polite. Gradually he quit trying to screw it up.

After his wounds healed he was in no hurry to leave since he had nowhere to go. The hut was spare but clean; there wasn't a lot of food, but for the first time in a long time he wasn't always hungry. The old man didn't beat him, but he didn't talk much, either. That suited Johnny fine. This old peasant man just went on about his life.

There was a garden Johnny learned to tend. There was a shed where the mule and the tack were kept; he liked cleaning the shed and keeping the mule and the tack shiny. He learned to cook. Renaldo worked for a hacienda nearby as a stable hand; on days he didn't work, he took Johnny fishing, or taught him to hunt or track. For the first time Johnny held a rifle. He had a talent for hitting his target.

Renaldo had several books-a Bible, a copy of Don Quixote-but his eyes were going dim. He asked Johnny to read to him. At first Johnny read slowly, with difficulty, but with time he got better. He and Renaldo discussed what he read. Sometimes Renaldo dictated a letter for Johnny to write for him to a relative who lived far away.

Renaldo watched the boy he had saved grow away from the anger and grief he brought with him. He treated Johnny with respect and kindness, and insisted he be treated the same way. Their relationship deepened. Once or twice Johnny called him his abuelo.

Renaldo took Johnny to the patron for whom he worked and asked if the young man could work with him. Johnny learned quickly, worked hard, and stayed out of trouble. He learned to love the horses he helped care for. Some of the men gave him a hard time because he was mixed, but mostly he was appreciated for his hard work and because of his relationship with Renaldo.

Time passed. Johnny spent the night at the stable assisting at the birth of one of the blood horses that were the pride of the Patron. The foreman had thanked him for his help and sent him home for the day to sleep. He looked forward to the breakfast Renaldo would no doubt have ready for him.

"Hola, Renaldo!" he called as he came through the door, but there was no answering voice. He saw the old man lying in bed and his heart caught in his throat. He watched for the rise and fall of the thin blanket, but there was no movement. He forced himself to walk to the bed. Renaldo was as still as death. "No, abuelo, no," he whispered. He touched the old man's forehead and drew back with a sharp intake of breath. Death was hard and cold. Johnny dropped his head and fell to his knees.

"I'm glad Renaldo found you that night," she said. "He must have been your guardian angel. "

"Pretty sure I'd have died if not for Renaldo. I learned a lot from him," Johnny said. "He showed me what dignity looked like. When I was with him I didn't have to fight all the time. It was the only peaceful time I had growing up."

"Did you enjoy Don Quixote?"

Johnny was tickled. "Leave it to you to ask about the book! Yeah, I did. At first the words were a little tough, but Renaldo knew how to speak formal Spanish and he helped me get the hang of it."

"I envy you being able to read the book in its original language. Do you remember much of it?"

"Bits and pieces. I remember 'En un lugar de la Mancha, de cuyo nombre no quiero acordarme…' . 'In a village in La Mancha, whose name I do not wish to remember…' That's the first line."

"You have a remarkable memory, Johnny. Do you ever forget anything?" She meant to tease, but her comment touched a nerve-for both of them. He had so much in his past he did not wish to remember. She, too, hoped to forget something, in time.


	7. Chapter 7 Hurting

Hurting

by Doc

Part 1

_Nogales 1868_

The unmistakable sound of a hammer thumbed back on a Colt stopped the fat man before his fist smashed the face of the woman in front of him. The barrel of the gun dug into the flesh of his neck. "Let her be," came a deadly soft voice in his ear. The fat man released his grip on the terrified woman's dress and raised both hands to shoulder height.

She scrambled backward, whimpering. The pistolero pushed his gun harder into the fat man's throat as he glanced her way and said "Go on now-get back upstairs to Mamie." She climbed the barstools to get to her feet, then stumbled up the back stairs of the now empty saloon.

The gunman released the hammer; he stepped back from the fat man's side. The Colt was steady and aimed at the fat man's neck. Slowly the man turned, arms still up, until he faced the gunman.

"I got no quarrel with you, Madrid," he choked out. He was sweating. His knees were shaking.

"You'll make one if you ever lay a hand on her again." Johnny Madrid didn't raise his voice to make his point; his gun did it for him. "Now get out." He watched without expression as the fat man hurried out of the bar, but his lip curled slightly when he heard the man break into a run on the other side of the batwing doors.

A couple of days later, when the girls told him that Carla and Lum were seeing each other again, all he could do was shake his head. Lum was a lout and Carla was better off without him, but it was her business. Trouble was, Johnny knew the man's type; he knew it was only a matter of time before Lum beat on her again.

When word reached Johnny of a job in Altar, an easy three or four day ride from Nogales this time of year, he sent word that he was on his way, and went upstairs to enjoy his last night at Mamie's.

A scream, a man's angry voice, a thud...Johnny jumped out of bed and wrenched the door open, Colt in hand, before his sleep-fogged brain registered the sounds that woke him. The hallway was empty, but more noises came from the room next to his. The locked door gave way to his barefooted kick. Momentum took him partway into the room; he landed in a crouch, bringing his gun to bear.

In the dim light he saw Lum lunging at Carla. She tried to move away from the fat man but the room was tiny and there was nowhere to go. Lum grabbed her hair and forced her on the bed; he jumped on top of her and circled her throat with his hands.

"¡Basta!" Johnny yelled. Lum froze. Johnny reached out to pull the man off Carla but thought the better of it-the guy outweighed him by a lot. Instead he brandished his pistol and ordered the fat man to back away. As he did Carla curled down into the bed and pulled the sheet up to cover the bruises Lum had inflicted; she couldn't hide her rapidly swelling eye.

Mamie appeared in the doorway with her rifle and her bouncers. They grabbed Lum and hustled him out of the room. Johnny scooped up the man's clothes and angrily threw them after him. He sat on the side of the bed and realized he, too, was naked. He grabbed a pillow to hold in his lap, looked at Carla's damaged face, and sighed.

"Hey," he said quietly. Carla raised up slightly to see him.

"Johnny," she said, and tried to smile. "I don't know what got over him..."

Johnny scoffed. "Oh, you know what got over him, Carla. Lum's an ass. He's no good. You can do better, you know."

Mamie came back with a bundle in her hands; when she gave it to Johnny he recognized his own clothes. With a wry smile he relinquished his spot beside Carla and turned his back to the women so he could dress.

"Are you hurt bad, Carla?" Mamie asked. Carla scooted to sit against the headboard, pulling the sheet with her. She shook her head but unconsciously reached up to touch her eye.

"Madrid's right," Mamie said. "Lum's an ass. I won't be letting him in here no more, but I think the best thing you can do is go somewhere else yourself. "

Carla hitched the sheet up higher. "You lettin' me go, Miss Mamie?" she asked tremulously.

Mamie's face was hard. "Don't want to," she said. "But I know Lum, and if you're here he's gonna keep causin' trouble even if I try not to let him back in. That's bad for business. 'Sides, you gotta get away from him or he's gonna kill you. "

Carla started to wail. "It's not my fault!" she protested. "I didn't do nothin' wrong! _He_ beat up on _me_!"

Mamie sighed, but there was no softening in her face. "It's not fair, I'll grant you that. But I got to protect my business, and Lum's got it good in Nogales. He ain't going anywhere, so you best be on your way."

"Mamie, it just ain't right." Carla wailed louder. "Please let me stay, please. There's nowhere else for me to go. Please don't send me away."

"Hey, Carla?" Johnny turned back toward her. His pants were in place but his shirt was unfastened and untucked. "Look, I'm leaving today. I'll take you with me down the road, make sure you end up somewhere so you don't starve..."

She didn't answer right away, but at least she stopped wailing. She rubbed the tears off her face and sniffed a few times. "Maybe," she said to Johnny. "Mamie, isn't there any way I can stay here?"

Mamie just shook her head.

"Johnny, I'll go with you then."

Johnny smiled, but it wasn't much. Nothing about this whole situation deserved much of a smile.

"Yeah, OK," he said. "Meet me at the livery in an hour. I'll be ready for us to go then."

He looked at Mamie. "How long can you keep Lum away from us?"

"Long enough," she replied with a frown. "Johnny, you sure you know what you're doing here?"

"Yeah," he replied. "It'll be fine. Once I get Carla out of here there won't be any reason for Lum to cause trouble. It'll be fine."

_Morro Coyo 1871_

"Your turn," Johnny Lancer said. He smiled and leaned closer to the young woman seated beside him at the picnic table. Emily looked across the street where a group of men stood in the skimpy shade of a boardwalk overhang. She studied them as their discussion became more heated.

"I choose the short man wearing the green vest," she said. "He has something really important to say, but the other men won't give him a chance. Every time he breathes in to start talking the fellow on his left speaks up before he can get a word out. In a little while he's going to be so frustrated I think he'll start yelling."

Johnny regarded the man in question. "That's good," he said with a drawl, nodding. "You could be right."

"Really? I'm right?" Emily was thrilled. Watching people to predict what they would do next was a game she and Johnny had made. Johnny excelled at it; Emily was better with four legged creatures.

He broke into a teasing grin. "No, I said you 'could' be right. Fact is, your man there is Ed Connors, and the reason everyone talks over him is that he never says anything worth listening to. You watch now; pretty soon he'll give it up and just nod at what everybody else says."

"And how do I know that's true?" Emily retorted. "You could be making that up, and I could still be the one who's right!" But Johnny snickered quietly and pointed at Ed, now nodding his head with his mouth firmly shut. Emily said, "Pfftttt," in perfect imitation of Johnny when he scoffed. He laughed.

"C'mon, I better get you home before it gets dark." Johnny stood and Emily took his arm. They walked towards the corral where their horses waited, unaware of the eyes following them from the saloon across the street.

"It can't be," said the fat man to his brother. "I heard he was killed in Mexico last year."

"Sure looks like him, though," said Eli. "Walks like him and all..." He turned back into the bar and approached the rail . "Barkeep!" he said sharply. "You know Johnny Madrid?"

The bartender looked up. "Might," he answered. "Who wants to know?"

"I do." Lum joined Eli. The bartender looked at both men for a few heartbeats.

"Nope," he finally said. "I don't believe I know Johnny Madrid."

Lum snorted. "Just saw a guy out there who sure looked like him."

"I wouldn't know."

Eli pulled a wad of bills from his pocket and laid it on the top of the bar. "This jog your memory any?"

The barkeeper looked from the money to Eli, then back to the bills. "Yep, it does. Now I'm _sure_ I don't know Johnny Madrid." He swiped the top bill and glared at the two men, daring them to challenge him.

With an oath Lum turned away. Muttering under his breath he strode back out to the street while Eli scooped up his money. Lum looked in the direction he had last seen the cowboy; he saw two people saddling horses at the corral.

Lum's horse was just outside the saloon; he mounted and rode slowly in the direction of the corral. It was his lucky day-the cowboy and the lady mounted up and headed towards him. He reached up to touch his hat to the lady, using his hand to shield his face as he got a good look at the cowboy riding the palomino. Damn if it wasn't Madrid. There was no doubt about it.

He signaled to Eli, who mounted his own horse. The brothers rode opposite the direction Madrid had gone, hardly believing their change of fortune. Since Madrid had left Nogales nothing had gone right for the brothers, and they blamed him for all of it. When he learned that Carla had left town in Madrid's company Lum made big trouble at Mamie's. He tore the place apart and ended up spending 6 months in prison. An ill-fated attempt at a jail break got his brother Eli locked up as well. By the time they were free, Madrid was long gone-dead by a firing squad, they'd heard. Forbidden by the terms of their release to go back to Nogales, Lum and Eli drifted into California, taking what work they could find and cursing the memory of Johnny Madrid.

But here he was in Morro Coyo, big as life, looking well fed and keeping company with some plain woman who obviously wasn't a whore. After letting the couple get far ahead of them, the fat man and his brother turned their horses around to follow the road taken by Madrid and his lady friend.

At first they missed the lane turning off the main road, but a closer look at fresh tracks in the dust set them right and led them to a small house east of a grove of shade trees. The palomino Madrid had been riding was tied to the small corral. Lum and Eli hid their horses in the grove and crept to where they could keep an eye on the house. As the sun set they saw Madrid ride out. He was alone.

They waited until the house was dark, then waited another hour or so, wondering if Madrid was going to return. Voices low, they discussed their options. Lum decided it didn't matter if Madrid came back tonight, or tomorrow, or not at all. They would take his woman like he had taken Carla. And if he came looking for her, they would kill him.

Part 2

The hacienda was quiet on Sundays, and Johnny loved it. Everybody but Johnny went to church on Sunday, and the day had become a welcome respite from the slog of learning to be part of a family. As much as he relished having the place to himself, though, lately Johnny found himself saddling Barranca for a visit to the Widow Morris on Sunday. She didn't go to church, either.

This Sunday when Johnny turned Barranca up the lane to Emily's house, her goats were grazing by the side of the road. It troubled him a little-Emily's animals did not stray. His concern mounted when he saw her ugly old dog walking slowly down the lane, panting despite the cool morning air. That damned dog was always with her, but he didn't see Emily anywhere. The dog looked up as Johnny rode past, then turned to follow Barranca without so much as a wag of his tail. If dogs could look worried, this one did.

Johnny slipped his gun out of its holster as he approached the house.

When he saw two unfamiliar horses in her corral he pulled up, scanning the yard for her. A movement on the porch caught his eye as someone stepped out of the house and hailed him.

"Madrid." The man was fat, and he held a gun pointed at Johnny. He recognized Lum. He threw the man a sardonic smile and vaguely waved his gun hand. Inside, his guts turned to ice.

"Lum, ain't it? What's going on?"

"I owed you one, Madrid, and I paid you back." Lum grimaced; it might have been meant to be a smile. "Remember Carla? You took my woman away from me; I just took yours away from you."

Madrid's tricks returned when he needed them; Johnny slouched in the saddle, looking relaxed and unconcerned despite his racing heart. He stared at the fat man for a few beats before he asked, "Where is she?"

Lum didn't answer right away. Johnny knew he could take the man down, but he also knew Lum always hung out with his brother Eli-and there were two strange horses in the corral. Until he knew what he was facing, until he knew where Emily was, he didn't dare make a move.

Barranca's ears swiveled; Johnny spun the horse away from Lum to see Eli pointing a gun at him from the door of the barn. A shot rang out and for a heart stopping instant Johnny thought they'd shot him. Then he saw the dog bolt into the barn as Lum's bullet kicked up the dirt beside him. With two guns pointed at him from opposite directions Johnny did the only thing he could do; he grinned cockily at Lum and made a show of dropping his own Colt with two fingers. He gracefully stepped off Barranca , thanking god his knees didn't buckle.

The fat man on the porch motioned with his gun. "Eli left her in the barn, I believe. Wanna see?"

Eli led the way; Lum crossed the yard quickly to keep his gun pointed at Johnny's back. It took only an instant for their eyes to adjust to the dim light of the barn. Two horses were loose from their stalls and stood still, heads down, investigating something on the ground.

They were sniffing at Emily. She lay naked on the floor of the barn, unmoving, curled on her side facing away from him. Her dog was with her now, laying in the hollow of her belly with his head on her bare hip.

Johnny felt Madrid's bravado collapse as he stared at her. When he saw her move, ever so slightly, he let out a breath he hadn't known he was holding. She was bruised and cut, and there was blood streaking the backs of her thighs. He dropped to his knees beside her and touched her shoulder with a trembling hand. She stiffened slightly and mumbled, "No. Please, don't."

"It's all right, it's me, it's Johnny. " He didn't believe for a minute that it was all right, and he shuddered at what she have must have experienced. Desperately looking up he saw Lum looming over them, his gun pointed at her head. When the fat man said with a sneer, "She weren't much of a fuck. You can have what's left," Johnny exploded.

With a furious roar he tackled the larger man, knocking him down and grabbing his gun. As he rolled away from Emily he saw Eli aiming at her; Johnny fired at him from the floor. He fired again before he saw Eli crumple to the ground. With a grunt Lum kicked out and knocked the gun from Johnny's hand. Johnny jabbed his elbow back and nailed Lum right in the balls as the fat man was trying to scramble to his feet. Johnny twisted, grabbed Lum by his greasy hair and savagely bashed his head on the floor again and again.

"Damn you, damn you, damn you, damn you..." He cursed Lum with every sickening crack of the man's head on the hard ground. The sound of his own voice finally penetrated his blind rage; he released his grip, panting, and sat back on his heels. His hands were covered with blood and hair. He wiped the gore on his pants and turned to where Emily lay silently on the cold bare floor.

He bent over her, wishing he had something to wrap her in. "It's all over," he told her. He caught a glimpse of her face and gasped at her bruises, her black eyes.

e H"You're gonna be fine. Let's get you back to the house." She stirred and whimpered as he lifted her into his arms but she didn't wake. He got to his feet, holding her close, noticing against his will the bleeding abrasions on her breasts, the huge purple bruises under her arms. He tried to walk without jarring her. The dog followed him.

The floor of her house was muddy, the furniture stained, and dirty dishes were scattered everywhere. Her bed was unmade; he pushed aside the bedclothes with his arm as he carefully laid her down. He covered her with the sheets and quilt. The old dog jumped on the bed and snuggled up to her; Johnny briefly laid his hand on the dog's grizzled head.

In the kitchen he rinsed his hands clean, then quickly fired up the stove and put water on to boil. He pumped more water to fill a basin and carried it back to the bedroom. With a damp rag he began to wipe away the blood from her face. She startled awake and looked at him, confused, through swollen eyes.

"Hey," he said softly. "You're OK now." He saw the instant her memory returned; her terrified gaze darted away from him as she searched for her tormentors. "Kill you," she said, her voice little more than a raspy whisper.

"No, no, I'm here, I'm OK. The bad guys are gone." Johnny reached up to gently stroke her hair; he caught his breath when he saw that some of it had been hacked off close to her scalp. She relaxed at his touch and her eyelids grew heavy. "It's all OK," Johnny continued. "But you need the doctor, honey." Her eyes flew open again as she whispered, "Don't leave me."

'I don't know what to do for you,' Johnny thought; but he saw her fear before she lost the battle for consciousness, and knew he couldn't leave.

He found a pencil and writing paper in her desk and wrote:

"At Morris's. She's hurt. Get the doc. Hurry. J"

He emptied his money pouch, put the letter in it, and tied it to Barranca's neck, knowing the ranch hands would recognize the pouch as well as the riderless palomino. He knotted the reins so they wouldn't drag, turned the horse towards Lancer, and shooed him away. When the gelding didn't run fast enough Johnny threw pebbles at him, stinging his butt and driving him off. He knew the men would take quick action, but it would still be hours before the doctor arrived.

He returned to Emily. She didn't look like herself-the pale, bruised, swollen face topped by irregular lengths of tangled brown hair was nearly unrecognizable. The bruises under her arms coupled with many deep abrasions and cuts that told him she had likely been dragged with a rope for a short distance. She was lucky to be alive. He wouldn't let himself think about the blood he had seen on her thighs.

Damn it to hell, this was all because of him. Lum and Eli hurt her in order to hurt Madrid. He had hoped so desperately that he could have this new life, the life he should have had all along if only his mama hadn't run away and lied and died. A peaceful life with a father, a brother, a sister, and a good woman like Emily in it. A life where he could look ahead with reasonable assurance of a future.

The reappearance of Lum and Eli blew his hoping all to hell. He'd been kidding himself. He'd been right when he told Emily that he had killed his own future. This was proof of it.

With a shake of his head Johnny pushed his tortured guilt deep inside him. Emily needed him now. She was cold-god, she was cold-so he built the fire up high as he could. She needed fluids, so he made hot tea and added sugar to it. When she couldn't swallow he wet a cloth in it and put it between her lips and was pleased when she sucked at it a little. He wanted to clean her up but was afraid it might hurt her more. When he couldn't think of anything else to do he sat on the side of the bed, held her hand, and prayed quietly to a God he wasn't sure he believed in.

As he prayed she turned her head ever so slightly towards the sound of his voice. He squeezed her hand and thought she may have squeezed back just a bit. Her breathing became less ragged. He began talking to her and when he ran out of things to say he found himself singing a Spanish lullaby he didn't know he knew.

It was a song from long ago, from his forgotten childhood. Mama would sing in her rich voice with its hint of laughter, and he would sing with her in his little boy voice. Mama would tell him his voice was as sweet as an angel's. They sang duets, and sometimes Papa would join in and they would try to sing in three parts, but they always ended up getting it wrong; they laughed until they cried. He'd forgotten...

Other lost songs came back to him, for Emily. The guilty darkness in his heart eased infinitesimally as he sang softly. He gave her tea and rubbed her hands tenderly. He thought he felt her getting warmer. The old dog, stretched out on the bed by her side, fell asleep and snored lightly.

A familiar cadence of galloping hoof beats broke through the mid-afternoon quiet. Johnny jumped up to look out the window; he was relieved to see Scott fling himself off Barranca and race to the door, shouting his name.

"In here, Scott," he called; the small measure of peace he had known when he sang to Emily evaporated as he returned to bitter reality. Scott took in the scene-Emily's injuries, the anguished look on Johnny's face-and wordlessly embraced his brother.

"Check the barn. There should be two bodies in there," Johnny spoke quietly into Scott's ear. "Take your gun. Make sure..."

Scott dashed outside. Johnny looked at Emily. She hadn't moved at all. He sat on the side of her bed, took her hand, and softly sang to her again. His defenses cracked a little now that he didn't have to be strong alone; the tears he had held at bay all day streamed down his cheeks.

Scott was shaken when he returned to the house . "My god, Johnny. What happened? Who were those men?" But Johnny could only shake his head as he wiped his face dry with his free hand .

"What can I do?" Scott asked.

"Just help me here. Help me keep her alive."

Scott sat on the far side of the bed and took Emily's other hand, warming it in his. The old dog looked at him suspiciously, then back at Johnny, before he jumped off the bed and went to lay in the front room.

"I wasn't expecting anyone so soon," Johnny said.

"We saw Barranca on the road to the estancia," Scott explained. "He ran up to the buggy, and I found your note. Murdoch and Teresa turned around to get the doctor, and I rode Barranca back here."

"I didn't know what else to do," Johnny said. "She's been hurt so bad...I thought about warming some blankets on the stove but I was afraid they'd catch fire if I wasn't there to watch 'em..."

Scott was already on his feet, glad to have something to do. "I'll take care of it, and I'll see if there's anything to eat while I'm in there. You hungry?"

Johnny shook his head. He hadn't eaten today, but food was the last thing on his mind. He turned his attention back to Emily as Scott disappeared into the kitchen. Soon they were wrapping her carefully in warmed blankets, and offering her fresh water and tea. Johnny never left her side as Scott went out to take care of the stock. And finally, after hours that seemed like days, the doctor arrived with Murdoch and Teresa.

Part 3

Johnny refused to leave her side until Murdoch and Scott each grabbed an arm and dragged him into the front room. "Let the doctor do his job," Scott said with a grunt as they deposited him in a chair.

"She didn't want me to leave," Johnny insisted. "I promised her I'd stay."

"You haven't left," Scott said, an edge creeping into his voice. "You are in the next room, and you are going to sit here with Murdoch and me until the doctor is finished. You've done everything you can do for her. Now you need to settle down and tell us what the hell has been going on here."

Johnny bristled at his brother's tone. "Damn it, Scott," he began, but his sharp words dissolved in the guilt that rose suddenly in his throat, extinguishing the nervous energy that had fueled him and leaving him weak and nauseated. He drooped forward in his chair, pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes in a vain effort to push back the tears. Then he covered his face with his hands while he cried. His father and brother watched silently, grimly.

When Johnny recovered his voice he spoke without looking up. He told them of those days in Nogales and how he helped Carla escape Lum's brutality. He knew nothing of what had become of Lum and Eli after he left Nogales, didn't know how they found him and Emily, didn't know how or when they came to her house...only that he found them here this morning, and that he killed them for what they had done to her.

Finally Johnny looked up at his father. "It's my fault," Johnny said, but Murdoch stopped him with an upraised hand.

"Johnny," he said, his voice unexpectedly gentle. "You are NOT responsible for this depravity."

Johnny dropped his head once again. "If I hadn't butted in that time in Nogales they'd have had no reason to do this."

"You did what any decent man would have done," Scott protested. "You helped a woman get away from a man who hurt her. This could have happened to anyone man enough to help someone like Carla."

Johnny looked up and his voice rose in anguish. "But it didn't happen to 'anyone'. It didn't even happen to _me_-it happened to Emily! She..." Words failed him.

After a deep breath he tried again, his eyes squeezed tightly shut. "I could've handled it if it had been me they came after. Before, it _was_ me. " He opened his eyes and stared coldly at his father, forcing him to hear the unsaid words, _'When I was Madrid'_. "It was _only_ me, and I could handle it. I could keep it away from..." He couldn't verbalize that thought, either, and pounded his fist on his knee in frustration.

Murdoch was about to speak when the bedroom door opened. The doctor's face was solemn as he eased the door shut behind him.

"She's going to survive this, but she's been very badly injured," he began. Johnny gave a small sigh of relief. Emily was going to survive.

"No bones are broken although she does have a cracked rib, likely from being kicked. She's been beaten about the face but I don't think there will be any permanent scarring there. I can't be entirely sure but I don't think there is any internal damage." The doctor stopped his recitation and looked guardedly at the Lancer men before continuing.

"The bruising and abrasions below the neck are from being dragged with a rope, probably behind a horse. Thank goodness it doesn't appear to have been a lengthy run. I don't think she's had anything to eat or drink for the past few days, so she's somewhat dehydrated. I suspect she was a touch hypothermic earlier today, but you did a fine job of warming her. She's been mostly unconscious; we've managed to clean her up, bind her ribs, treat the wounds, and so on. She did come to once and asked for Johnny."

Johnny rose to his feet to face the doctor. "She was raped, wasn't she?" he asked bluntly.

Scott inhaled sharply at Johnny's question; Murdoch stared, aghast, at his younger son. The doctor nodded. "I'm sorry. She has injuries relating to that atrocity as well."

Johnny blew out a big sigh. He had known it already, but hearing it from the doctor made it inescapable. To his surprise he was not overwhelmed with guilt at the words. Instead, he felt...not relief, exactly...more like determination. Determination to take care of Emily, to see her through this battle. His personal guilt was a luxury he couldn't afford just now.

He straightened his shoulders and met the doctor's eyes. "OK. Now what?"

The doctor's mien softened somewhat. "She'll need round the clock nursing care to make sure she takes in sufficient fluids, stays warm, and so on. She'll be in quite a lot of pain, so give her laudanum-15 drops every three hours or so. Her injuries need to be checked, cleaned, and treated twice daily-I've left some salve and shown Teresa how to apply it. Once she's strong enough to sit up in bed she can eat whatever sounds appealing to her. I'll be back in a day or so to check her progress."

The doctor looked at the three men; he cleared his throat. "I'm afraid it's a rather delicate situation," he said hesitantly. "But I understand Mrs. Morris has no immediate family to look after her. Young Teresa is an excellent nurse, but you'll need additional help at least in the first few days, since some of the injuries are of a feminine nature. I can recommend several widows in the area who could..."

Johnny realized what the doctor was trying to say. "Thanks for the offer, doc," he said. He thrust out his hand, and when the doctor grasped it he took the man's elbow as well and subtly maneuvered him towards the door. "Appreciate everything you've done. We'll see you when you come back."

When the doctor was gone Johnny turned and strode past his father and brother without another word. He disappeared into Emily's bedroom where Teresa was folding the soiled apron that had protected her Sunday dress. Johnny went to her and took her in his arms.

"Thank you," he told her. "You shouldn't have had to see this, Teresa, but I'm grateful for your help." They hugged, and Johnny heard Teresa sniffle as she quietly cried. After a long moment he pushed her back, keeping hold of her shoulders. "Wipe your nose," he said to her, gently and with a hint of a teasing smile. She smiled back before averting her eyes.

He looked at Emily unconscious in her bed. Her eyes were covered with a damp cloth to help minimize the bruising. Her lips were swollen and cracked; there were cuts on her chin and cheeks. "Was it real bad?" he asked Teresa softly.

Teresa nodded. "Why would anyone do this? She's hurt everywhere...why would anyone hurt someone like this? And why Emily? She's so kind and quiet. I don't understand..."

Johnny bent his head, determined to keep his guilt buried for now. He accepted the responsibility of caring for the one who had suffered because of him; he owed Emily his full attention. His own feelings could wait.

"Can you stay here with me and Emily?" Johnny asked. "She needs some nursing I can't do..."

"Of course, Johnny," Teresa replied without hesitation. "I'd be honored."

The next two days coalesced into a morass of anxiety, boredom, and exhaustion as Johnny and Teresa tended Emily around the clock. Scott came by several times bringing food and clean laundry. The constant administration of pain medication kept Emily in a state of semi-consciousness, and Johnny began to despair of seeing her awake and smiling ever again. When the doctor came back he was pleased with Emily's progress and advised the laudanum dose be decreased.

Johnny had moved an upholstered chair from the front room to her bedside; he was reading there when Emily woke up. Her lips were pinched with pain, but when she recognized him he saw a slight upturn to the corners of her mouth.

"Well, hello," he said to her, a smile breaking across his face for the first time in days. "Thirsty?"

She tried to answer but could only croak. Johnny's grin grew as he grabbed the water from the night table and carefully held it to her lips. "I'll take that as a 'yes'," he said.

She managed a couple of sips. As he set the cup down he confessed, "It's good to see you, honey."

"You, too," she managed to say. The ugly old dog was sleeping in his usual spot alongside her; when he heard her voice he stretched forward a few inches, tail wagging. She weakly pulled her hand out from under the covers, placed it on top of his head, and left it there. The dog sighed in contentment.

"Hey, can I have some of that?" Johnny asked. Emily turned to meet his teasing gaze, smiled again, and brought her other hand to the top of the covers. Johnny reached out for it, but she pulled it away from him and pointed her index finger to her lips. Laughing, Johnny leaned in to kiss her, but before their lips met he saw a sudden flash of terror in her eyes. He straightened up quickly and caressed her head instead.

"You're OK," he crooned. "Don't worry. I won't hurt you. No one will hurt you now, Emily. You're OK."

Her eyes were wet with unshed tears as she searched his face. "Sorry," she whispered, embarrassed.

Johnny shook his head. "Nothing to be sorry about," he said. "Here." He kissed the first two fingers of his right hand and touched them lightly to her lips. "Better?"

Emily nodded slightly. "Love you," she said as, exhausted, she fell back asleep.

"Love you, too," Johnny answered, wondering what would become of their love once she recovered.

Part 4

Once Johnny was able to care for Emily without help, Teresa returned to Lancer. Murdoch, unhappy that his son was staying unchaperoned in the house of an unmarried woman, grudgingly acceded to Johnny's stubborn refusal to consider any other arrangement. Like Johnny, Emily seemed to regard social conventions as suggestions, not rules; it made sense to them that he should stay with her, so he did.

She would take laudanum only at bedtime because she hated the way it muddled her thinking, so Johnny read to her to help take her mind off her pain. As she was able to stay awake longer they played checkers or cribbage, or devised their own private games of stories or words. Only at night, laying sleepless on the couch in her front room, would Johnny allow himself to dwell on his guilt. It kept him awake, but he never admitted it to her. As far as Emily knew he always slept well.

And then she asked him who Clara was. "Clara?" he asked. Emily frowned. "I think it was Clara...they said you knew her."

Johnny didn't need to ask who 'they' were. "Carla. You mean Carla?"

Emily nodded. She wore her housecoat and they were sitting on her front porch, drinking tea. She was strong enough now to move around a little, and Johnny was planning to take her to the hacienda in the next day or so to continue her convalescence. Her face was still swollen but her bruises had faded to a sickly greenish-yellow. Her ribs hurt with every breath. She had started tying a kerchief on her head to hide her unevenly chopped hair. She still slept a great deal.

"What did they say about Carla?" he asked guardedly.

"They said you stole her away from one of them, and that you had forced her to go with you, and that you...you treated her badly."

Johnny shook his head. He wasn't ready for this conversation, but couldn't see any way out of it. "Lum-the fat one-he and Carla were together. He was mean to her. I just helped her find a new place after he got her fired, that's all."

"They said a lot of other things, too, about you."

"I bet they did." Johnny looked calmly into her eyes and tried to see what she needed from him.

"Have you always been honest with me?" she asked, looking away.

"As honest as I know how to be, " he answered.

"Then I guess most of what they said wasn't true," she said.

Johnny almost smiled. "Since I don't know what they said, I guess you'll have to go ahead and tell me what you want to know."

Emily turned her forthright gaze back to him. "I don't need to do that. I know you, and I know what kind of men they were. I'd be a fool to think they told the truth about anything." She hesitated. "Except they were pretty clear they intended to kill you. As horrible as everything else was, I think at the time that scared me the most. They were going to kill you and I couldn't figure out a way to stop them."

Johnny was dismayed. "That should have been the last thing on your mind," he began. But he caught himself, unsure what to say next. He didn't want to imply that she should have fought harder to get away, to stop them. He just couldn't believe, with all she had been through, that she had been worried about him.

She didn't notice his unease. Now that she was talking about the ordeal she needed to get it all out. As hard as it would be to hear, Johnny was determined to listen. It was the least he could do for this brave young lady who had been through so much because of him.

"Things kind of all ran together," Emily continued. "I thought if I could get away, I could hide somewhere so if you came, I could call out to you or something. But I wasn't very good at escaping. I wasn't thinking too clearly. I was so thirsty and weak..."

"Wait," Johnny interrupted. "Why?"

Emily looked down. "They wouldn't let me eat or drink," she said in a small voice. "It was punishment for fighting them, they said."

Anger grabbed him; he smashed his hand down on the arm of the chair, wishing the bastards were alive so he could kill them again. "How long?" he asked, more loudly than he meant to. "How long did that go on?"

"I don't really know. Like I said, it all ran together. Next time I fought them they hacked at my hair with a knife." Incredibly she snorted out a short laugh. "I thought they were going to slit my throat. It was actually a relief when all they did was cut my hair."

Johnny didn't see the humor. "God, Emily," he said.

"For a while I didn't fight back or try to run, but at night, when I thought they were sleeping, I snuck out and tried to ride away." She stopped, and her face paled. She looked at him beseechingly.

"I was naked, Johnny. They'd taken my clothes and forced me... I was naked." She looked away again; he saw she was trembling. For her, he clamped down firmly on his own rage. "I ran out to the barn and jumped on Jughead and tried to...but they were already out there, and one of them roped her and pulled her up. The other one roped me," and her voice broke.

"Honey," Johnny said desperately. "It's OK. Stop..."

"They pulled me off her, and they tied the rope to Jughead's tail and used the end of the other rope to whip her so she would run, and..." as she broke down into convulsive sobs Johnny knelt beside her, clutching her by her arms and pulling her to his chest. "And it hurt so bad, and I was so scared, and I am so sorry I couldn't warn you," Emily cried, while Johnny hugged her and silently begged God to take her pain and memories away.

That night he slept with her in her bed. He needed to hold her as much as she needed to be held. He couldn't stop the images of Emily, dragged, beaten, raped, starved-and more worried about him than about herself. He couldn't understand it. He couldn't accept it. He feared it would haunt him the rest of his life.

Part 5

Scott drove Lancer's best buggy to fetch Emily; its springs and padding would make her trip to the hacienda more comfortable. Lancer hands would take care of the horses, goats, and chickens remaining behind. The old dog came with Emily to the house. There was no discussion, even though dogs weren't allowed in the house. He came with Emily, and he went wherever she went, and that was that.

Johnny felt a change between him and Emily almost as soon as she entered the hacienda. At her house there had been no barriers between them; at Lancer she was suddenly a houseguest, and a semi-invalid at that. Teresa and Maria took over her care as Johnny returned to his daily routine. He was no longer a part of every minute of her day; he began to feel uncomfortable around her when they were together.

In this new environment he saw just how badly she'd been injured. The short trip to the ranch exhausted her. When she wasn't resting, she read or stared into the distance, stroking her dog's head as he lay in her lap; it seemed the dog did nothing else. Emily ate very little. She was pale with dark circles under her eyes; resolving bruises marred her face. When someone engaged her in conversation she smiled and answered, but she rarely initiated interaction.

Johnny missed her wit and her laughter. It was easier for him to simply avoid her.

Emily slowly got better. In time she required little in terms of nursing, and was able to dress every day. She ate her meals with the family, and she did small tasks that required little strength or stamina. She was healing-proof that she didn't need Johnny, he thought. She was better off without him, he thought. She could concentrate on her own recovery without worrying about him. His guilt was a burden for him to bear alone.

His withdrawal did not go unnoticed. His family treated him gently-asking if he was OK, wondering if perhaps he should spend a little more time with Emily. He nodded as if in agreement but did not change his behavior. He didn't expect them to understand, after all, and it was easier not to talk about it.

That wasn't good enough for Scott. He buttonholed Johnny during a lunch break one day and asked him bluntly why he was avoiding Emily.

"She don't need me around, Scott," replied Johnny tersely.

"Did you have a fight?" Scott persisted.

"No."

"Did she ask you to stay away?"

"No."

"Are you angry with her?"

Johnny looked at him in disbelief. "No, I'm not angry with her."

"Well, brother, she thinks you are," Scott retorted.

Johnny looked at the ground, then back at Scott, eyes narrowed. "She tell you that?"

"Yes, she did. She asked me if you were really that busy with ranch work because she hasn't seen much of you. I said there was always a lot of work, but it did seem to me you were doing more than your share of it. Then she asked me if I knew why you were angry."

Johnny looked past his brother to the mountains in the distance. Was he angry? Yes, he was. But not at Emily. "She really thinks I'm avoiding her because I'm mad at her?" he asked.

Scott nodded.

Johnny heaved a sigh. "OK, I'll talk to her tonight and clear that up," he said. He pulled his hat on with a jerk of his chin as he stood up to get back to work.

Scott looked closely at him. "That's it? Just clear it up?"

"That's it. I'm not mad at Emily. I'll tell her that."

Now it was Scott's turn to sigh. "Johnny, I don't think it's quite that simple..."

But Johnny interrupted him. "I think it is." And that was the end of the conversation.

After dinner Johnny invited Emily to take a walk with him. Side by side but not touching, they made their way to the barn. Emily's dog followed them at a distance. Emily's steps were measured but noticeably stronger; she no longer winced with every breath. She was thinner than before, but Johnny had been pleased to see that she ate well at dinner. The same could not be said of the old dog. He had not eaten much since coming to the ranch; tonight he walked slowly and with grim determination.

"So," Johnny said finally. "Scott told me today that you thought I was mad at you."

Emily shot him a guarded look. "You've been avoiding me. I asked Scott if he knew what was wrong. We talked about things a little, and I wondered if you were mad at me and that was why you were staying away." She spoke in a carefully matter of fact tone.

Johnny answered in a similar voice. "No, I'm not mad at you. I just figured you were better off without me around."

Emily stopped walking to look at Johnny in amazement. "Why would I be better off without you?"

Johnny couldn't meet her eyes. "I brought you an awful lot of pain."

"_You_ did? In what way?"

"Emily, you know what happened to you was because of me. You _know_ that," he answered impatiently.

She faced him and put her hands on either side of his face, forcing him to meet her eyes. "I knew you would try to blame yourself, Johnny. But I won't let you. You did nothing to harm me. I am not better off without you. Is that plain?"

He looked at her for a long moment, wondering how she could be so blind. Still, he didn't want to fight with her. "OK," he said finally. He stepped back, away from her hands and her fierce gray eyes. "And you know I'm not mad at you, right?"

Emily sighed. "OK," she replied, and they walked back to the house without another word.

Johnny's mood did not improve. Every person he encountered managed to piss him off somehow, and he let them know it. The ranch hands he worked with stayed far away from him. When he lost his temper with Teresa and made her cry he got a lecture from Murdoch and that pissed him off even more. An old darkness grew within him, a featureless and airless darkness he hadn't felt since he had come home to Lancer. It smothered all hope.

His responsibility was clear. Emily had been brutalized because of him. His past had reached out and nearly killed the woman he loved. He knew the only way to make sure it never happened again was to leave-leave Emily, leave Lancer, leave his new life. He had to leave.

But he couldn't. He was living a dream come true, a dream he hadn't even known he had until it materialized in front of him. He had a family now. He had a place. He had a future.

No. He had killed his future long ago. He had to leave.

He couldn't leave.

Angry at everything and everybody-especially himself-Johnny retreated to the barn. He sat in darkness even though sunlight flooded a path through the open service door. He was surprised to see Emily's ugly old dog wander in. There was no sign of Emily. The dog walked slowly, panting. Johnny whistled to him but he kept padding aimlessly, stumbling when he met an obstacle, until he seemed to find the place he was seeking and settled under a hay rack.

Johnny sat in his darkness. He forgot about the dog. He forgot about everything except his guilt. He worried it from every angle, trying to come to terms with what had happened. He knew he was a coward because he wanted to leave; he knew he was a bigger coward because he couldn't leave.

A long time later, Emily came in. Johnny saw her before she knew he was there. She wore a simple yellow dress and a kerchief on her head; he had never seen anyone so beautiful. Her eyes were downcast as she searched the ground, looking in the nooks and crannies of the barn; she startled a little when she saw Johnny sitting on a bale of hay. She asked if he had seen the old dog. He nodded and pointed under the hay rack.

Emily bent down to look. She fell to her knees with a soft moan. She reached in and carefully pulled her beloved old dog out by the scruff of his neck; he was barely alive. His limbs were stiff. She sat on the ground and gently nestled the dog in her skirt, holding his head in the crook of her elbow. The ugly old dog thumped his tail once. A few breaths later he died peacefully in her arms.

She sat crying on the floor, rocking the dog's body, her tears falling on the grizzled old head. Johnny watched her, the darkness in him so heavy he couldn't get up to comfort her. He wiped his own tears with the back of his hand.

"Oh, honey," he finally said, his voice so soft he could barely hear himself. "Please don't cry. I can't bear it."

She was suddenly very still; then with a jerk she raised her tear-stained face to him. Her eyes were furious. The shock would have knocked him back if he had been standing.

"You can't bear it?" she said incredulously. She laid the old dog's body tenderly on the floor and struggled to her feet. "YOU can't bear it?" Her tears continued, but they were tears of anger now.

"What can't you bear, Johnny? My tears? My wounds? My very existence? You can't bear it because I remind you of your guilt-your stupid, arrogant guilt. You are so puffed up with your own importance that you think all this is your fault."

"It _is_ my fault!" he shouted at her, rising to his feet. "If it wasn't for me you wouldn't have been hurt. Emily, I _hate_ it that you were hurt. I hate myself for what happened to you, for causing it, for not being able to stop it!"

"I hate what happened to me, too, but I hate the people who did it to me-not you!" She didn't shout back at him. Her voice was quiet and hard. "It wasn't your fault, Johnny. It was those stupid hateful people wanting to make other people hurt as much as they did."

She looked up at him, eyes blazing. "And they are succeeding, you son of a bitch, because they've driven us apart." The fire burned itself out, leaving only pain. "You walk around like a ghost. You won't talk to me. You won't even let me touch you. And that hurts worse...that just hurts so much..." She turned away from him, overcome with sobs.

Aching, Johnny reached out for her. He folded her into his arms as she tried to push him away; he held her tightly. She stopped fighting him and finally relaxed in his embrace until her sobs were spent.

"I never meant to hurt you, Emily," he whispered to her. "I don't know what to do. I don't want to hurt you, ever. Maybe if I'm gone nothing like this will happen again."

Emily took a deep breath before she pushed out of Johnny's arms. She looked up at him again. "I think you may be lying to yourself," she said carefully. "Do you really think that going away will keep me from ever getting hurt? Ever?"

After a moment Johnny shook his head. "No," he admitted slowly. "Everybody gets hurt. But it would keep you from getting hurt by what I've done."

"Johnny, everybody gets hurt." Emily repeated his words. "So, then, what makes people feel better after they've been hurt?"

Johnny cocked his head ever so slightly to the side, studying her; he said nothing.

Emily smiled sadly as she answered her own question. "The people they love."

Her words made him wince. "But what if the reason for the hurt is those people?" he asked softly.

"You know what? It usually is," Emily replied. She was silent for a long time; Johnny felt her considering her next words carefully. "I don't think you can love someone without somehow hurting them, even when it's the last thing you want to do. But when people love each other, they figure out how to get through that."

Johnny shook his head. "This loving stuff...it's hard for me, you know. I thought it would be easier."

Emily took his hands and led him back to the bale of hay. She guided him down and sat beside him, leaning into him. He felt some of the darkness fade away in her warmth. He continued, "I never really loved anybody since...well, it's been a long time, 'cause when I lost her it hurt real bad, and I swore I would never hurt like that again. As good as I got with my gun, that's how good I was at keeping from getting hurt. It was all the same, you know?"

"That's so sad," Emily said quietly.

Johnny nodded. "After I got over hating Murdoch, after enough time went by, I guess I began to understand love a little. But then I met you, and when I figured out I loved you, I realized that..." Johnny surprised himself by chuckling a little. "Well, first of all I realized that _you_ could hurt _me_. But mostly I realized I could hurt you. I could hurt you without ever meaning to, because I was Johnny Madrid."

He stopped to fill his lungs with air. Without thinking he reached his arm around Emily and pulled her closer. More darkness ebbed away.

"I thought it would be because of the bad things I'd done. But it wasn't. I did a good thing by helping Carla, but that's the thing that caused you to be hurt. I just don't know what to do with that. "

"I wasn't the only one hurt, was I?" she asked gently.

Johnny sighed as he squirmed a bit to get a better look at her. "Why do you do that?" he asked, exasperated.

"Do what?"

"Be so selfless. So sweet. So goddamn noble." And why did he felt the beginning of a smile on his face?

"But you do it, too." He saw the tiniest hint of a smile on her lips as well. "You're so worried about me being hurt, you can't even see that you're hurt, too. When you love someone, their hurts are yours and yours are theirs. You can't separate them."

Johnny considered her words. "Well, damn," he said. Emily laughed out loud.

God, it was good to hear her laugh. Johnny smiled. "So I get twice the pain for loving someone?"

Emily nodded. "But you get twice the good stuff, too. It's just that we haven't had a lot of good stuff lately. Oh, we will," Emily looked over at her dog and her face clouded. "But maybe not today."

"Oh, honey, I'm sorry about him," Johnny said. They sat in silence, but his arm was around her, and her head was nestled in the hollow of his neck. The passing of the ugly old dog was a sad thing, but they would get through it. "He was a good ol' dog."

She nodded as Johnny squeezed her. "He meant a lot to me."

"I'll take him back to your place and bury him, if you want," Johnny offered.

She cleared her throat. "That would be nice. Thank you."

"You're welcome, pretty lady."

"I have something else to tell you, Johnny," Emily said.

He looked at her apprehensively, but she smiled reassuringly. "It's something my grandma told me."

"Your grandma with the farm?"

Emily nodded. "She told me 'Don't be afraid'."

" 'Don't be afraid.' That's it?" He wasn't sure he understood.

Emily nodded again. "That's everything, Johnny. It's a lot harder than it sounds. Pain is inevitable; so is love. You can't avoid either one. Don't be afraid." She straightened beside him and looked deep into his eyes; the last of the darkness fled.

"You know what? Your grandma was a very wise woman." He kissed her and held her close; he was no longer afraid.


	8. Chapter 8 Breathing

Breathing

By Doc

September 2012 - Thanks to Karen for her insightful beta-ing!

She sat on a tall chair in the garden with a sheet around her shoulders. Teresa combed her hair to make it lie smooth, then picked up the shears and nervously began cutting the longer tresses that had escaped the knife of Emily's attackers.

"It's OK, Teresa," she said gently. "Even it all out."

The younger woman continued tentatively snipping. "It's such a shame, Emily," she said. "It's so unfair."

Emily sighed, nodding. "But making it even now will make it look better faster, don't you think?"

"I think you're very brave," Teresa replied.

"No, I'm not," Emily said. "What choice is there? Life goes on. My hair will grow back."

And it's almost time for me to go home. Her breath caught in her throat.

Later that afternoon she leaned against the corral fence, face to the warm sun, waiting for Johnny. She wondered what his reaction would be-she hadn't told him she was going to cut off the rest of her hair.

She spotted him in the distance, riding in at collected trot. She loved the look of him on his horse-carrying his reins high above the saddle in his left hand, upper body curved forward a bit in his characteristic slouch. He waved when he caught sight of her. Dismounting, he handed the reins to a waiting vaquero and gave Barranca a final pat on the neck.

As he strolled over to her he opened his eyes in exaggerated surprise. "Whoa!" he said, reaching out and taking her by the waist. "You cut your hair!" His smile was easy but she knew he was afraid of saying the wrong thing.

She smiled back. "How do I look?" She batted her eyelashes coquettishly.

"Like a 12 year old boy?" he offered tentatively, still smiling.

She pretended to slap him. He leaned down for a quick kiss. "I'm glad you cut it," he whispered. "It'll grow back even prettier than before."

"Thanks," she whispered back. "I hope I don't look like a 12 year old boy for very long."

After dinner a few nights later, as they all relaxed in the great room, she told them that she was well enough to go home soon. She thanked them for their kindness. Murdoch and Scott both assured her she was welcome to stay as long as she needed. Johnny leaned against the wall of the fireplace, arms folded, legs crossed at the ankles. His lips were pursed as he chewed on the inside of his cheek. It was what he did when he was considering whether or not to say something. She met his eyes; he said nothing.

Instead, he shoved off the wall and walked past her, grabbing her hand and pulling her up off the couch. She had to trot a few steps to catch up with him; if it had been anyone else pulling her like that she would have jerked away. He led her to the garden where Teresa had cut her hair. They sat on a stone bench by the wild lilacs; Johnny slipped his arm around her shoulders and pulled her close. "Are you sure you're ready to go home?" he asked.

"I really should. I don't want to take advantage of your family's generosity any more than I already have." She was glad her head was tucked under his chin so he couldn't see the tears in her eyes. A newly familiar tightness in her chest shortened her breathing. She thought of her ugly old dog and how he wouldn't be returning with her-the dog had died in the barn at Lancer and Johnny had buried him back at her place. She missed him. He had been a gift to her from Mr. Morris. A feeling of loss overwhelmed her. She had to remind herself to inhale.

Johnny's concerned voice interrupted her reverie. "You didn't answer my question. I don't figure it can be easy for you to go back there after what happened."

"It's home. Where else would I go?"

"Stay here." He said it without hesitation." Stay as long as you want to."

"And then what? Your family gets so used to me being around that it's like having another sister?" She pulled out from under his arm and sat up straight. "I don't want to be your sister!"

Johnny chuckled. "You could be my 12 year old brother instead," he teased. Despite herself, she smiled.

Johnny's family had been concerned about her returning home alone. Teresa had tried to insist on staying with her for a while, but Emily was afraid to be responsible for the younger woman; she had been able to talk her out of it. Emily wished Johnny could stay with her as he had immediately after the attack, but they both knew it was challenging convention to even discuss such an arrangement. Murdoch suggested she move into town but, as she had after Mr. Morris's death, Emily insisted her home was here, in her own house. In the end Emily had won, as she usually did. Except that this time she almost wished she hadn't.

It was wonderful to be back home, alone, with her animals. They had been well cared for by the Lancer hands; Tramp and the other horses nickered at her warmly. She wandered through her barn and then through her house, making sure she had everything she needed to start living again. She missed her dog following her around. Once or twice she thought she heard him behind her.

After checking supplies in the kitchen, she stepped out onto the wooden porch Mr. Morris had built to remind her of their first home in Ohio. They had spent many evenings on this porch, rocking in the wooden chairs, watching the stars come out. She and Johnny liked to sit there and talk. It had been one of the old dog's favorite spots, too. She breathed in the familiar air and tried not to feel alone.

As the sun went down she went inside and lit the lamps in the front room. The walls were whitewashed and the furnishings light in color to capture as much illumination as possible. Mr. Morris had done that for her so she could read into the night. Her thoughts were scattered; she knew that this evening she would be unable to concentrate on words on a page. The shadows were darker than she remembered.

She had forgotten what to do. Her chest felt tight, and it was hard to breathe. She inhaled and filled her lungs with as much air as they would take. She wandered back into the kitchen and occupied herself making a cup of tea she didn't want.

When it was bedtime she was reluctant to undress. She tried not to think about why. She lay on top of her bed, fully clothed in the growing darkness. She listened to the familiar sounds of the night and wondered why they were suddenly so sinister. She'd lived here by herself after Mr. Morris was killed-had it really only been a year and a half ago? But now there was no dog to keep her company. It wasn't proper for Johnny to stay any more.

Sleep didn't come; she got up and walked slowly into the front room.

She sat in the lamplight and tried without success to slow her runaway thoughts. She remembered the fear she had felt when her attackers came. She remembered the pain of them hitting her, the shame and loathing when they raped her, her overwhelming sense of helplessness-and the fear that Johnny would die. She tore her mind away from that horror only to have other long-neglected memories take its place-the deaths of her mother and father, her husband... She spiraled down into the darkness inside until she became entangled in the secret thing that she had almost been able to forget.

Johnny arrived early the next morning. When his cheery "Heigh ho the house!" went unanswered he flipped Barranca's reins around hitching rail and ran up the stairs, boots clomping. "Hey, Emily," he called as he threw open the door, but his next words died in his throat as he saw her sitting motionless in the chair, staring blankly into space. She didn't look at him.

"Emily?" he asked softly, kneeling in front of her and gently taking her hands in his. She didn't respond.

He saw the sputtering lamps, a full cup of tea cold on the table. He knew from the bleating and snorting of the animals in the barn that they hadn't been tended to yet today. "Oh, Emily, honey," he said sadly.

He rose to his feet, still holding her hands, pulling her to rise with him. She stood unsteadily for a moment before lifting her chin to look at him. "You're here," she said. Her voice was quiet and hoarse. "I thought I was all alone."

She drew in a breath to sigh, but it stuttered in her chest. It sounded like a sob.

"Sometimes I don't think I can breathe." Her voice was so low he had to lean in to hear.

"What did you say, honey?"

"I feel like I'll forget to breathe and I'll just slip away."

He pulled her into his arms and held her tight. "You had a bad night, didn't you?"

She nodded. "All night I stayed awake, remembering to breathe."

"Good. You did real good. But you know what?" He pushed her away a little so he could see her face. He talked to her as if she was a frightened child. "I think you're not ready to be alone yet. What do you say? Do you want to come back with me for a while?"

"Johnny?" She didn't appear to have heard him.

"What, honey?"

"What if I'm going to have a baby?"

He felt like the wind had been knocked out of him; her next words nearly finished him.

"I had one, once."

He looked at her, dumbstruck. "You had a baby?" he repeated.

She nodded. "She died."

"Oh, honey..."

"I can't do that again. If I have another baby and it dies... I can't do that again."

She began to tremble and cry; Johnny led her to the couch and sat next to her. She gradually curled up in his lap, weeping, hands covering her face. He held her, rocked her, murmured sounds of comfort. At last her sobs quieted and she became silent, unmoving.

Johnny continued to hold her as if both their lives depended on it. Finally she pulled her hands away from her face to look up at him.

"There, now," he said, his face solemn. "Any better?"

She nodded. "A little."

She found she was still wrapped in his arms, her body folded in his lap. With a sniffle she straightened to sit on the couch beside him. He kept an arm around her.

"Do you want to tell me about your baby?" he asked gently.

"I don't think I can right now," she whispered.

"OK, OK," he agreed. They huddled in silence until a whinny drifted in from the barn, and Johnny remembered the neglected animals. "Why don't you lie down here and see if you can sleep? I'll go out and take care of the animals, and then I'll be right back so you won't be alone, OK?"

Wordlessly she nodded, and allowed him to lay her down on the couch. He slipped a pillow under her head and grabbed a quilt from her bedroom to cover her. By the time he tucked it around her shoulders she was asleep. There was a single tear on her cheek; he wiped it carefully away.

She slept dreamlessly for several hours and awoke with the sense that she was being watched. With a start she sat up, heart pounding, to see Johnny sitting across the room, looking at her.

"Hey," he said. He jumped up from the armchair to hand her a glass of water. Then he sat back down, studying her intently.

"How're you feeling?" he asked.

"I'm not sure," she replied. Not as scared as last night, but still not herself...she realized Johnny was talking again.

"The beasts are all OK," he was saying. "Jughead tried to bite my butt and one of your goats nearly ate my hat, so everything is fine out there."

She smiled wanly. "Thanks."

He continued to look at her with concern; she sipped at the water, still trying to figure out how she felt.

"You look kinda lost, there, pretty lady," Johnny said with a hint of a smile.

She nodded. "That about covers it, "she whispered.

Johnny sighed. "What are we gonna do with you?" He moved over to sit beside her on the couch; she leaned into him gratefully. She took a deep breath, trying to chase away the clutching feeling in her chest.

His voice remained soft and gentle as he asked the question she dreaded. "Will you tell me about your baby now? I'd really like to know about her."

"What words are there?" she wondered; apparently she spoke aloud, because Johnny asked, "What was her name?"

"Rachel."

"Well, that sure is a pretty name." Johnny offered in an effort to keep the conversation going.

Emily struggled to respond. "We were going to call the baby Andrew if it was a boy, and if it was a girl we were going to call her Susan. Except when she was born I looked at her and she didn't look at all like a Susan, so I called her Rachel."

"Just like that, huh?" There was warmth in his tone; she drew strength from it.

"Just like that." She remembered the feel of the baby in her arms, how she snuggled into Emily's neck. She would give anything to feel that again.

"How old was she when she died?" Johnny's calm question pulled Emily out of the dark place that threatened her.

"Four months. She was just learning to move her fingers in front of her eyes and watch them."

"I bet that was real cute." He smiled a little at her. "I bet you were a good mama."

"No. I wasn't good enough. It didn't seem right that I could keep on living and she was gone." Emily felt her throat constrict and was glad Johnny was there, keeping her from the abyss. "She wasn't even sick. She just didn't wake up one day. The doctor said she just slept away, that babies do that sometimes. They just quit breathing..."

They sat silently for a while, Emily lost in thought. Rachel had been gone for nine years. Mr. Morris had never spoken of her after the funeral. Today, with Johnny, was the first time she had spoken Rachel's name since leaving Ohio, and that had been five years ago.

"Do you think you might be carrying another child?"

She took a deep breath before answering, "I don't know. I started thinking about it last night and I couldn't seem to stop my mind going around in circles. I don't want to be. I mean, I know people do it, and they love the baby, but how can they? How is it not a reminder of...of..."

Johnny leaned forward, elbows on knees, head bowed. He clasped his hands together and spoke without looking at her. "Emily, I think we should get married."

He felt her stiffen beside him. She didn't say a word.

He turned to her and trapped her hands between his. "I was thinking about this in the barn," he said earnestly. "Things are real complicated right now, but the problems go away if we're married. You won't have to worry about being by yourself, and if you're gonna have a baby we can raise it..."

She pulled her hands abruptly away from his. "Stop. Just stop it, Johnny."

He was shocked by the sharpness in her voice. There was an anger in her eyes that he didn't understand. "Stop what?" He sat back from her a little, searching her face for a clue about why she was upset with him.

"Don't do this to me." He couldn't remember Emily raising her voice to him before. "Don't sit there and offer to marry me to save me from myself. I can take care of myself!"

"No, honey, you can't." Johnny's voice became more insistent. He leaned closer to her; she leaned away. "But you don't have to try any more. Don't you see-if we get married..."

"I said stop!" Emily shouted as she jumped to her feet. "I'm so tired I can't see straight, and I'm afraid I'm half crazy, but I know when I'm being patronized!"

Baffled, Johnny tried to keep his temper. "I'm not patronizing you! I'm _proposing_ to you!"

She glared at him. "No. That was not a proposal. That was an insult." She pushed past him and made for the door, shaking off his hand as he grabbed her arm. She ran to the barn and he started to follow, but confusion made him hesitate. Why was she running from him? He felt rooted to the porch as she pulled Tramp out of the barn by the reins. He watched as she climbed up bareback and rode away without a glance in his direction.

Barranca whinnied shrilly from the hitching rail in front of the house, unhappy at being left behind by his riding buddy. Johnny walked slowly down the steps to comfort the horse, shaking his head.

What the hell just happened?

Emily rode hard away from Johnny, to a meadow where she could turn Tramp around little shrubs in tight circles. Every time he circled a bush she kicked him down a straightaway and then reined him to a sliding stop, only to pivot him back to another bush. It was difficult to do bareback, but the horse's sweat provided enough friction to keep her from sliding off. The concentration it required helped take the edge off her anger.

She realized in time she was overdoing it. Her legs were trembling, and Tramp was blowing and lathered. She walked him cool before heading down a hill to a nearby stream. Sliding down, she pulled off the bridle to keep the bit clean while Tramp sucked up the water. Sated, he began pulling at the grass growing on the bank. If he headed back home it wasn't too far-she could easily walk back.

Emily sat cross-legged and gazed out over the water, steadying her breathing and her thoughts. The inseams of her trousers were wet and filthy with dust and horse sweat; they felt bad and smelled worse. But the exercise had cleared her mind. Her anger was fading. It was a sunny day, and for the first time since last night she was beginning to feel like herself.

"That was some ridin'," came a casual drawl from behind her. With a silent groan she got to her feet and turned to face Johnny. He stood on the rise, grinning, holding a wicker basket in his hands. "Too bad you didn't get anywhere. Shouldn't have turned all those circles-you'd be halfway to San Diego if you'd kept in a straight line." He set the basket on the ground beside him, and put his arms out in a gesture of invitation.

Inwardly, for just an instant, Emily damned Johnny's irresistible ways. She'd intended to stay mad at him until she figured out...well, something. Now here he was. He'd even brought her a picnic. She couldn't help herself-she smiled back at him and met him halfway. Wrapping her arms around his waist she melted into the security of his arms. She listened to his heart beating and felt his lips kissing the top of her head. For a moment she felt at peace.

They found a flat spot to spread the old blanket Johnny pulled out of the basket. He'd also brought some bread, apples, and a skin of water. Until she saw the food she hadn't realized she was hungry. They ate without talking, sitting side by side on the blanket and watching the sun sparkling over the water. The silence grew between them until she said, "You don't even know what you did to make me mad, do you?"

"No, ma'am, but I'm very sorry and I won't do it again," he answered with his most charming smile, ducking his head like a guilty little boy. "Besides, I'm pretty sure you're gonna explain it to me, aren't you?"

"Oh, you bet I am! But not right away." The joking tone faded from her voice. "Can we just sit here and enjoy the day some more?" With a small sigh Johnny gathered her once again in his arms.

From the safety of his embrace she remembered another day a lifetime ago, when she and Johnny swam together. She made him a promise that day. Violence had interrupted their relationship soon after, and it seemed they had been existing in limbo ever since. Johnny-kind, sensitive, compassionate Johnny-had rarely touched her since, except to offer the same comfort a brother would offer a sister.

But she remembered how he touched her that day in the water; for the first time since she was raped she remembered it without the overlay of disgust and terror that had been the legacy of that attack. She remembered his breathtaking kisses, the feel of his bare skin against hers.

Remembering, she wanted it again.

She rose to her feet and invited him to do the same. When she first put her lips to his, he returned her kiss gently, almost chastely. But she pressed against him more insistently; her mouth opened, her tongue searched, and he pulled back, surprised.

"Do you remember the day we went swimming?" she asked. He nodded, breathless.

She smiled. "I promised you that when I was finally ready, you would be the first to know."

Taking a deep breath, she looked deeply into his blue eyes and said, "It's time."

He cupped her face in his hands and kissed her again. "Now?" he breathed. "Here?" She nodded, and he continued to kiss her mouth, her eyes, her ears, her neck. He kissed her with the love and passion she longed for. Carefully he helped her remove her clothes-all of them, this time; she did the same for him. Once her skin was against his she marveled at how his touch could be both gentle and exciting. He guided her slowly down onto the blanket where he continued his unhurried exploration of her body. She had never experienced such tenderness or such pleasure. Her love for him brought tears to her eyes. He saw them and asked, "Are we OK?" She smiled at him and said "Oh, yes," and pulled him closer.

Afterward they lay together on the blanket in the lush grass. She was soaking her riding trousers in the creek but had put her undergarments back on; Johnny was shirtless. Emily lazily ran her fingers through the thick hairs on Johnny's bare chest, enjoying the sensation and appreciating the firm muscles under his skin. He laced his hands behind his head and gazed at the cloudless blue sky. "You surprised me, pretty lady," he said.

'I surprised myself, too,' she thought. "Is that a good thing or a bad thing?" she asked aloud.

"It's a good thing. A very good thing." His grin was impish. "Didn't you think so?"

"Oh, yes! A very good thing!" she said. She raised up on one elbow so she could look down at his face. "Thank you."

He lifted his head off the ground. "You're welcome, but what for?"

She didn't answer. Johnny looked at her with a lopsided smile; then he, too, got up on one elbow. He kissed her slowly. "Really," he said quietly. "Why are you thanking me?"

"For making me feel so beautiful." She sighed and averted her eyes. "For waiting for me. For saving me. I've felt so bad lately, especially last night. I was so scared..."

"Well, you've been through a tough time." Johnny said softly, reassuringly. He ran a finger across her cheek. "It's one thing to feel all right when you're surrounded by people like at Lancer; it's real hard to deal with things when you're alone in the dark."

"Is that the voice of experience?" she asked him.

Johnny smiled ruefully and gave a short nod.

"Somehow I don't see you falling apart like I did last night," Emily said. She reached out to push his dark bangs off his forehead.

"Nope, never. " His rueful smile broadened. "Although there was one time I was sleeping rough, and in the middle of the night my camp was invaded by snakes. I shot five rattlesnakes that night. When the sun came up I found I'd shot my lariat to pieces." He chuckled, and was happy to see her smile back at him.

"I'm real glad to hear that. If Johnny Madrid can have a bad night, I guess I can too." Her smile faded. "I _can_ take care of myself, you know," she said seriously. "You made me mad when you said I couldn't. You made me mad when you said you wanted to marry me so you could take care of me."

Johnny drew in a breath as if to answer her; then she saw him chew on the inside of his cheek as he sat up and crossed his legs Indian style, and she knew he had decided to keep quiet.

"Mr. Morris married me to take care of me. It was the right thing for me to do, then. But I'm older now, and I know...I just know more. Being with you makes me realize how much more there is for me than a marriage of convenience." She matched his position so she could reach for his hand; she held it tight. "When you ask me to marry you, I want it to be because you can't live another minute without me. It needs to be because we want to be together for the rest of our lives-not out of your sense of obligation to an unborn child I may or may not be carrying, and not because I'm afraid of the dark!"

As she spoke Johnny lowered his head and studied the blanket without expression. She still held his hand and it was warm and real in her grasp, but a cold fear struck at her heart. When she was done he was silent for a while; then he took a deep breath and began to talk without looking at her.

"I'm sorry I don't always have the right words to say what I mean." His voice was soft and quiet as smoke. "But I won't apologize for what I said. I never meant to make you mad or belittle you. But a man wants to take care of what's precious to him, Emily. I want to take care of you because nothing in this world means as much to me as you do."

He raised his head to look at her, his eyes sparkling like the sun on the water; the fear in her heart melted away in their warmth. "I can't live another minute without you," he said with a smile. "I want to share everything I have with you. I want you to share everything you have with me. I want to remember Rachel with you."

As he continued she heard laughter in his voice. "I want us to remember that ugly old dog together. I want us to have lots of kids and dogs and horses and flowers, and I want you to read all the books in the library, and I want to laugh and cry with you and grow old with you."

He shifted his legs suddenly to kneel in front of her, making her laugh because it made him tower over her as she sat cross-legged.

"Marry me, Emily," he said.

She threw her arms around him. "You said it just right, Johnny. Of course I will marry you."

The words came as natural as breathing.


End file.
